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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365126">It was a dark and stormy night.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi'>okapi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Fluff, Full Moon, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Needs a Hug, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, NOT OMEGAVERSE, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, Nicky's Backstory is Dark and Tragic, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recluse Nicky, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Burn, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Werewolf Everybody, Werewolf Joe, Werewolves, werewolf Nicky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:47:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,671</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One dark and stormy night, Joe finds himself on recluse Nicky's doorstep. Werewolf AU. Joe/Nicky. Slow burn. Different First Meeting. Hurt/comfort. Angst with a happy ending.</p><p><b>Chapter 13.</b> The happy beginning. Nicky and Joe are reunited.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>241</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was inspired by a post on The Old Guard kink meme but I can't find the post now, and I think OP wanted them to get together right away and I am certain the OP didn't mention werewolves. </p><p>A huge thank you to ancientreader for the support and encouragement.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe's Jeep gets stuck in a ditch. He wanders through a storm to a lonely cabin in the woods and meets a kind recluse who is, like Joe, a lone wolf.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a dark and stormy night, and Nicolò di Genova did not want it to end.</p><p>Earlier that evening, he had stood on the front porch of the cabin, peering into the twilight and breathing in cool, sweet, early winter petrichor. Now night had well and truly fallen, and he was tucked beneath layers of heavy blankets on a narrow cot, listening to the howling beyond the cabin walls and the percussion on the cabin roof.</p><p>As he listened to the storm brewing and bubbling loud and strong, his mind flew up and escaped out of the top of his head. It passed like a ghost through the physical membrane of architecture and somersaulted on air like a trapezist. Buoyed by wind and buffeted by rain, his thoughts swung high, dipped low, and tumbled base over apex. Then they raced, swift as lightning, scarcely brushing the ground; they bounded and leapt, much like his wolfen form did by the light of a full moon.</p><p>Nicolò di Genova, Nicky to a very, very few, loved storms, and so did the wolf that lived inside him. It was a rare instance in which the two were seamlessly in agreement, both exultant in their pleasure, both ready to wallow in the natural phenomenon.</p><p>And it was because of that, because of the absorbing joy in which man and beast were enveloped, that sharp wolfen ears did not twitch and a keen wolfen nose did not itch until it was far too late.</p><p>Until the stranger was at the door.  </p><p>
  <em>“Hello? Anyone home? My Jeep got stuck in a ditch. This is first place, the only place, I’ve seen for, like, miles. My name’s Joe. Just want a dry place to wait out the storm. Hello? I promise I’m not a serial killer or a homicidal lunatic. But then I suppose I would say that even if I were. Not helping your case, Joe. Can I sit here? On this bench? Looks nice. Is it handmade? Just going to sit here. Wait out the storm. Sorry to bother you. Really sorry. I’m Joe, by the way. Already said that. Okay. Shutting up now. Don’t shoot me. Please.”   </em>
</p><p>One of two windows was shuttered tight, but the other was not. Through a gap, Nicky could see the back of a head and a pair of shoulders and the top of the bench that Nicky had, quite correctly, made himself. The stranger had unknowingly chosen well; by objective standards, the bench was far and away the most comfortable piece of furniture on the premises.  </p><p>Nicky stood in the threshold between the main room and the bedroom. Various thoughts and fears and impulses battled within him while his body remained completely motionless.</p><p>Time passed.</p><p>The creaks of the bench woke Nicky from his woolgathering. The seated figure was tilting to the right; then it disappeared from Nicky’s view.</p><p>Nicky looked down. There was a hunting rifle in his hands. The decision to return it to the bedroom was conscious; the decision to pick it up had not been.</p><p>Moving slowly and deliberately, Nicky carried the gun back into the bedroom and slid it beneath the cot. Then he drew the topmost blanket to him and began to fold it.</p>
<hr/><p>Nicky turned the knob of the front door slowly, quietly, carefully, deliberately. The folded blanket was pressed to his chest like a shield and a comfort.</p><p>The storm still raged. It hardly mattered.</p><p>The door was open when the stranger popped up.</p><p>“Oh, hello there, um—”</p><p>Nicky jumped, squeaked like a mouse, dropped the blanket, sprang back into the cabin, and closed and bolted the door.</p><p>
  <em>“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I startled you. I really did not mean to do that. I’m honestly not a bad guy. That’s not very convincing, is it? Thank you for the blanket. It looks warm. That’s very kind of—oh! OH!”</em>
</p><p>Nicky’s back was against the door. He blinked rapidly. His heart was pounding, the tympanic thud almost drowning the voice of the stranger, the stranger who was still talking.</p><p><em>“You and I are the same!”</em> Nicky’s ears caught something like a sniff. “<em>On the blanket, I can smell you, and you and I are, that is, we are of same nature, dual nature. Lycan. Lupin. Wolf-human. Uh, I’m not up on all the new terms. Wow. Um.”</em> The creak of the bench. A sigh. <em>“Listen, I understand. I am not, repeat, </em>not<em>, trying to threaten or encroach your territory. I understand why you’re suspicious of strangers. And why you’re all the way up here by yourself. But I swear I’m just going to sit here until the storm breaks, then I’m going to go back to my vehicle. That’s it. Thank you for the blanket.”</em></p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>We are of same nature.</em>
</p><p>Nicky sincerely doubted it. Nevertheless, the words struck him forcibly, like a blow to the chest. His heart, so loud in its drumming moments earlier, might have abruptly ceased its pumping altogether.</p><p>There was a stranger in Nicky’s midst, and that stranger, as unlikely as it seemed, was a wolf, too!</p><p>The bench creaked again, and Nicky quickly shook off his mental fog and went to work.</p>
<hr/><p>Joe had always been a bit of a scamp, and a common ruse of his childhood was to feign sleep when he was in danger of being caught reading, drawing, or doing other sundry mischief past his bedtime.</p><p>The trick served him well when the stranger crept out onto the porch for the second time. </p><p>Joe did not move a single muscle. In fact, he almost fooled himself, stretched lengthwise on the bench beneath the blanket. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing slow and regular. He made no sign of noticing the stranger’s presence.</p><p>Things were being placed on the ground. Then the door was closed quietly, and the bolt set even more quietly.</p><p>Joe could not help but wonder.</p><p>Wolf!</p><p>The stranger, the occupant of the cabin, was a wolf, and not just a wolf, a <em>lone</em> wolf, judging by the scent on the blanket. Among the mix of notes that made up the signature musk, there was noticeably absent the muddled tag which indicated a pack.</p><p>When Joe thought about it, it made sense. A lone wolf might prefer such a setting, far from the city, far from anyone, but it was still a surprise to find him here. Lone wolves were rare. Joe knew because he was one himself.</p><p>Joe kept still and listened.  It would be downright stupid, not to say dangerous, to repeatedly spook a lone wolf in the middle of nowhere. This was his territory, not Joe’s.</p><p>After a while, when Joe did not hear any footsteps approaching the door, he drew his hands underneath his torso and pushed himself up to sitting.</p><p>The bench, though wooden, was surprisingly comfortable, and the stranger, Joe realized with delight, had left him a veritable trove.</p><p>A pillow. A second blanket. A towel. A change of clothes, including, Joe discovered, wonderfully wooly socks. A thermos of, Joe sniffed, mint tea. A thermos of, he sniffed again, tomato soup. Something that smelled delicious wrapped in brown paper. And a wooden frame, which turned out to be an extendable rack.</p><p><em>For hanging my wet clothes</em>, thought Joe, as he locked the rack into place. The lone wolf might be unsociable, but he wasn’t anything but inconsiderate. </p><p>“Thank you!” called Joe, daring a peek through the gap in the shutters. He didn’t see the lone wolf moving about the cabin’s spartan interior, so he turned back to the offerings and set about making himself much more comfortable.</p><p>Joe dutifully hung his wet clothes on the rack and donned the spare clothes, which, he noticed, fit well enough, only slightly loose across the shoulders and in the seat.</p><p>The something delicious in brown paper turned out to be smoked trout on a kind of herb flatbread which Joe, fully cognizant of the irony, wolfed down in a few hungry gulps. He licked his fingers, then the paper, and washed the whole business down with tea and soup.</p><p>Warm, dry, full, enveloped in a charming scent, laid out on a comfortable bower, listening to the susurrations of the dying storm, Joe drifted off to sleep.</p>
<hr/><p>The stranger—<em>no</em>, Nicky told himself, <em>that’s rude, he has a name, use it</em>—<em>Joe</em> was asleep.</p><p>Nicky looked at lump in the blanket and sniffed. His brain did a quick comparison and reached a conclusion: Joe was asleep <em>now</em>. Joe had <em>not</em> been asleep when Nicky had brought out the food and clothes. Joe had been<em> pretending</em> to sleep then. Why? Nicky didn’t know, and he didn’t know if it mattered that he didn’t know. It was one of life’s many puzzles and would likely remain so.</p><p>Nicky guided the rack of wet clothes through the threshold of the front door. It was too damp outside. Joe clothes wouldn’t be dry by morning if they remained on the porch. Nicky would put them by the stove and, when they were dry, leave them out for Joe to collect.</p><p>Nicky found himself standing before the rack of clothes, wondering about their owner. His attention was eventually drawn to a white T-shirt.</p><p>He ought not to, it was inappropriate, Nicky knew, but he was very curious. And very worried.</p><p>
  <em>What kind of wolf was Joe? And, more importantly, how many more like Joe were coming?</em>
</p><p>Tentatively, Nicky reached out and touched the T-shirt, which was still damp. Then he drew the neck of the shirt towards his nose.</p><p>He sniffed. He started.</p><p>There was no trace of a pack in the scent! None at all! Lone wolf, then.</p><p>That made Nicky relax and frown. He sniffed again. One of his eyebrows rose. Joe smelled very—</p><p>Like all wolves, Nicky’s peripheral vision was keen. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught two flashes of gold in the gap of the shutters.</p><p>Every fiber of his being sounded a blaring two-tone alarm.</p><p>
  <em>Run! Fight! Run! Fight! </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Run!</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Joe woke to the realization his clothes and the rack were gone.</p><p>Through the gap in the window shutters, he observed the lone wolf, a figure as tall as himself, with broad shoulders and brown hair, standing by the rack, which was now placed by a wood stove.</p><p><em>He’s drying my clothes</em>, thought Joe. <em>What a sweetheart.</em></p><p>Joe watched, but the lone wolf didn’t move for what seemed a very long time.</p><p><em>What’s he doing? </em>As far as Joe could tell, absolutely nothing.</p><p>Joe got to his feet for a better view.</p><p>A snatch of verse sprang in Joe’s mind.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>So I stayed aloof</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>finding none I’d care</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>to share my supper with</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>or an evening prayer.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Finally, the lone wolf extended a trembling hand and touched Joe’s T-shirt and slowly brought one end of the shirt closer to his face.</p><p><em>Ah, so that’s it. Go ahead, it’s okay, I don’t mind, </em>Joe urged silently, <em>smell me</em>. <em>See?</em> <em>I’m alone, just like you. Nothing to worry about. Just Joe.</em></p><p>Mirroring the lone wolf, Joe took the collar of the shirt he wore and brought it to his nose. He inhaled as the lone wolf’s shoulders rose slightly. He tried to synchronize their breaths.</p><p>
  <em>You smell good. Do I smell good?</em>
</p><p>The lone wolf’s scent was very good, indeed. When Joe ha"d been pretending to sleep, he’d been able to give its composition his full consideration. The lone wolf smelled, he’d concluded, fresh and sharp, shades of green and flashes of yellow, chopped basil and sliced lemons and something else, something hard and biting and primeval. Something necessary. Joe filled his lungs over and over, pondering this last something. His artist’s mind, always sensitive to image, conjured up a place where the mountains met the sea, but not sand, not beach.</p><p>Rocks, cliffs.  </p><p><em>Brine</em>.</p><p>Could he possibly be a sea-wolf? If so, he was very far from home. A sea-wolf wouldn’t pick a secluded cabin in the mountains to hide. He’d be by the ocean, in a lighthouse, maybe, or on an island. A cove.</p><p>But he might not have had a choice. Or thought he had a choice.</p><p>As Joe reached this last point of debate, the lone wolf seemed to wake from another stupor and turn.  </p><p>Joe released his shirt collar. The lone wolf’s profile, visible through the gap in the shutters, distracted him—<em>that’s an interesting nose, </em>he thought,<em> sort of like a muzzle, I’d love to draw it</em>—but then the lone wolf’s posture stiffened, ramrod straight, alert and tense and angry. He jerked his head toward the window. Their eyes met for half an instant—<em>oh, shit!</em></p><p> “No!” called Joe as the lone wolf fled through an interior door. “Please, don’t run away! Listen, I’m renting the Old Guard cabin for a month. I’m a friend of Andy’s. And Quynh! Do you know them? Fuck!”</p><p>Joe threw his hands up in a futile gesture as, somewhere from inside the cabin, a bolt fell and metal hinges shrieked like dying monsters. Then there was silence, a very dead silence.</p><p>Joe dropped his head and his hands and sighed.</p><p>“Well done, Yusuf. That’s the way to make friends.”</p>
<hr/><p>Late the following morning, when the world was deliciously wet and disheveled, Nicky was outside his cabin hosing down a large dog kennel, and Joe was about half a mile away, on the phone.</p><p>For Joe, the charm of the lone wolf, much like the scent on the shirt collar, was fading fast. Curiosity had been interred hours earlier. That left annoyance. Joe was annoyed, so annoyed he dispensed with the usual salutations and small talk. Luckily, the person he was calling didn’t get damn about them, either, under any circumstances.</p><p>“My neighbor,” Joe began.</p><p>“Shit! You met him already? The full moon is tonight!”</p><p>“The Jeep got stuck on the way here—”</p><p>“I told you to lean <em>right </em>on that bend!”</p><p>“The storm was blinding, Andy! I couldn’t see the road, much less any bend or which way to lean!”</p><p>“Is the Jeep okay?”</p><p>“Yes, and so am I, thank you very much, but when I got stuck, I got out and decided to look for shelter.”</p><p>“In the middle of a storm? In the middle of nowhere? Have you ever seen a horror movie, Joe, ever in your life?”</p><p>“We are the stuff of horror movies, Andromache, or have you forgotten? And what I did is beside the point. When were you going to tell me about my neighbor? The guy in the other cabin. He’s a lone wolf.”</p><p>Andy wasn’t paying a bit of attention to Joe. She was whispering excitedly.</p><p>
  <em>Quynh! Come here. It’s Joe. He’s already met…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shit! Really? Is he ok?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t know. Come here.</em>
</p><p>“Hi, Joe!” cried a chipper voice.</p><p>“Hi, Quynh. Andy—”</p><p>Whatever Joe was going to say died in a barrage of questions.</p><p>“Is he okay?” “What did he look like?” “Did he talk to you?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I didn’t a good look at him. No, he didn’t talk to me. I didn’t even get his name.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>The noise that Andy and Quynh made was so full of disappointment that Joe growled in irritation.</p><p>“What’s his name?” he asked pointedly. He couldn’t keep calling him ‘lone wolf.’</p><p>There was a long, thoughtful pause. Joe could hear the exchange of silent glances and the mouthed, unvoiced debate on the other end of the line. Finally, Andy spoke.</p><p>“He needs to introduce himself to you, Joe, if that’s what he decides he wants. I know it seems ridiculous, but we’re the only people he knows, and I have to respect his trust. He’s a very private person.”</p><p>“Yeah, I got that.”</p><p>“He’s kind, though,” interjected Quynh.</p><p>“I got that, too.”</p><p>Joe recounted his experience on the porch.</p><p>At the end of his re-telling, there was a different ‘oh,’ one that was more than a little surprised and intrigued.  </p><p>
  <em>He fed him, he clothed him, he sheltered him. That sounds promising, Andy. Maybe they’ll be friends? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe. Maybe not. At least we know he’s still alive.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And still at the cabin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yeah. He’s still here.</em>
</p><p>“I’m still here, too!” snapped Joe.</p><p>“Joe, he keeps himself to himself,” said Andy. “I expected you to meet him on the full moon if you met him at all. That would have been the best. And if you had taken the bend the way I told you—"</p><p>“His wolf is great!” cried Quynh. “I mean, he’s cool, too, but the wolf doesn’t have all the, you know. You’ll have fun. I’m jealous.”</p><p>“You’re not going to tell me anything about this guy, are you?”</p><p>Joe knew his anger was irrational. The lone wolf had been kind, no question, but Joe definitely could’ve used an extra set of hands getting the Jeep un-stuck. When he’d woken on the bench, there wasn’t a peep from inside the cabin, and, somehow, he knew there wouldn’t be.</p><p>In the light of day, after the toil of extracting the Jeep, finding his way to the cabin, and hauling everything inside, Joe was beginning to consider the previous night’s experience with the lone wolf as unnecessarily tedious bordering on childish.</p><p>“I’m here to work, Andy. I’ve got deadlines. I need a space with no distractions so I can focus and reconnect with my art and get these projects done well and on time. That’s why I’m here. I’m not here to deal with any drama or play any games. I don’t know what this guy’s problems are, but I don’t want to know,” warming to his theme, Joe raised his voice and commenced to gesture with his hands, “and I especially don’t want to deal with miserable wolves deal who with their misery in ways that take everyone down with them! That kind of shit is precisely why I’m here and not there. No drama. No games. No memories. Just peace and quiet. Just work. Just art!”</p><p>The little speech made Joe feel good. He stood up and put one hand on his hip and frowned the jumble of boxes, crates, bags, and trunks around him. He scowled at the extra crate of foodstuffs, filled to bursting, that had been snuck into the Jeep without his knowledge and which he now suspected might not be intended for him at all. “Is this box, the one with the apricots, for my neighbor?”</p><p>“What?” asked Andy. “Yes,” said Quynh.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, Quynh!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You want him to starve?!</em>
</p><p>“Still here!” grumbled Joe. Really, if it weren’t for the pipes and the axe, he might hang up.</p><p>“Look, Joe,” said Andy testily. “He’s not Booker. He just isn’t. And he will not bother you. And Quynh’s right. You’ll have a good full moon. But, still, whatever you know about him should come from him—if it comes at all.” Andy’s tone closed the topic for further discussion. “So, have you settled in? How’s the cabin?”</p><p>“Yeah, uh, two things,” Joe rubbed the back of his head, “the kitchen sink pipes and the axe…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Joe is quoting "Granada" a poem by Abu Ishaq Al-Ilbiri, specifically, a version translated and abbreviated by Omar S. Pound in <i>Arabic &amp; Persian Poems in English.</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The first full moon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe and Nicky spend the full moon together as werewolves, and their wolves form a quick, warm bond.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a cloudless moonlit night, and Joe was restless.</p>
<p>He lifted his muzzle and sniffed the cold air. His ears twitched. His fur bristled.</p>
<p>This was no park. This was <em>wilderness</em>.</p>
<p>It was a wilderness that called to Joe’s untamed nature.</p>
<p>A strong urge to howl rose up in Joe’s chest. He dismissed it and set off at a happy trot from the rear of the Old Guard cabin.</p>
<p>Joe heard and smelled the lone wolf long before he caught sight of him, but, oh, when he did—what a sight!</p>
<p>The lone wolf had the typical broad face, pointed ears and muzzle, and black nose, but below his ears, there was an unusually thick ruff of grizzled gray-brown fur. Long guard hairs of the same color cascaded like regal plumage from the widest wolfen shoulders Joe had ever seen. The lone wolf also sported dozens of layers of undercoat.  </p>
<p>Or maybe it was muscle and not insulation?</p>
<p>Joe shivered.</p>
<p>As the lone wolf approached, however, Joe revised his first impression. He and the lone wolf were, in fact, of the same stature, it was simply that the lone wolf’s bulk, especially across the shoulders, that gave him the appearance of being much larger. Indeed, he cut an imposing, majestic figure.</p>
<p>Then it hit Joe hard.</p>
<p>He was <em>Alpha</em>.</p>
<p>But, Joe’s mind protested, he was an Alpha with no pack in the middle of nowhere, and that made no sense! </p>
<p>The other thing that made no sense was the wolf’s piercing blue eyes. <em>Pups</em> had blue eyes, not grown wolves, and certainly not grown wolves that looked like kings! Adult wolves had golden yellow eyes that shone greenish orange on a full moon night. The lone wolf’s eyes glittered, as bright and arresting as improbable sapphires.</p>
<p>
  <em>Where did he get eyes like that?</em>
</p>
<p>Nothing about this wolf made sense, including the fact that, despite the formidable exterior and singular hue of iris, he was hurrying towards Joe with his tail wagging, his tongue lolling, and his whole head swinging side to side.</p>
<p>He was a dog that had just been told it’s time for walkies!</p>
<p>So light and playful an attitude in so intimidating a facade was disconcerting. Once again, Joe found himself chanting the familiar refrain.</p>
<p>
  <em>He doesn’t make sense! </em>
</p>
<p>But in a few moments, instincts took over, and sense or no sense, Joe was greeting his neighbor, nose-to-nose.</p>
<p>Joe’s body vibrated as a result of the cheerful wriggling of the other’s solid core—half muscle, half wool, Joe decided—against his. The panting and thumping and snorting was like a play yard song.</p>
<p>
  <em>We’re going to have fun! We’re going to have fun!</em>
</p>
<p>The lone wolf’s joy was catching.    </p>
<p>Joe hopped in place.</p>
<p>Also, as the salutations progressed, the cloud of musk grew thicker. It was a variation on what Joe had deciphered on the loaned clothing and blankets: basil, lemon, and brine with, of course, the addition of wolf!</p>
<p> <em>Wolf, wolf, wolf! Most important—wolf! </em></p>
<p>The scent was already so familiar to Joe that the normal impulses—to investigate, to bridle, to be on guard, to lash out preemptively—did not surface, did not even occur.</p>
<p>Joe liked this wolf. And the lone wolf must have felt the same because he was happily nuzzling and snuffling at Joe’s neck.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hello, hello, hello!</em>
</p>
<p>At last, the lone wolf pulled away and to Joe’s surprise—really, Joe seemed he was doing nothing but being surprised these days—he licked Joe’s nose!</p>
<p>Bewildered, Joe almost sneezed.</p>
<p>Then the lone wolf went completely still, his enormous head directly in front of Joe’s and tilted to one side, blinking impatiently as if to sing. Once more, Joe heard it in a child’s voice. It said,</p>
<p> ‘Come on, come on, kisses, kisses, nosy kisses.’  </p>
<p>Carefully, tentatively, Joe extended his muzzle and dared a tiny lick of the lone wolf’s nose.</p>
<p>The lone wolf erupted in squirmy delight. Then he stilled once more and barked a single call, which even to human ears must have sounded like what it was.</p>
<p>
  <em>Ready?</em>
</p>
<p>Joe was more than ready to enjoy every inch of this wilderness and every moment of this moonlit night and any lingering anxiety about the possible danger in being a strange wolf in a strange place died a swift and painless death.</p>
<p>Nothing would dare bother Joe, not with this creature by his side.</p>
<p>Joe returned the bark.  Yes, he was ready.</p>
<p>And then, they were off!</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>Go, go, go!</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky might have been flying.</p>
<p>He sprinted as fast as his legs and lungs would permit. The cold air was like icy fingers carding through his fur. The landscape was a blur. He hardly felt the wet ground beneath his paws.</p>
<p>All that mattered was that he was <em>running!</em></p>
<p>And, tonight, he was a special boy. Tonight, he was not alone. He was running with a friend!</p>
<p>
  <em>Friend, friend, friend!</em>
</p>
<p>Joe was <em>friend</em>. The wolf instantly and unreservedly rejected any other word or qualifier.</p>
<p>The words of a children’s story echoed in somewhere in the recesses of Nicky’s mind.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>…his name is not Wild Dog any more, but the First Friend, because he will be our friend for always and always and always…</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>And Nicky’s <em>friend</em> proved to have strong, quick legs. He was keeping pace, only slowing occasionally because of the unfamiliarity with the terrain.</p>
<p>Nicky pushed up hills and bounded over rocks and zigzagged around trees and careened down gullies. Joe followed closely in his wake.</p>
<p>In flat, open areas, however, they were together, racing shoulder-to-shoulder. They ran without a finish line or a ticking clock. They were running just to run. They were running because the moon was full. They were running because their natures bid them run and run fast.</p>
<p>After a while, Nicky’s thirsty was too great to ignore. He led Joe toward the foot of the mountains, listening to their duet of hard, ragged panting as he jogged along.</p>
<p>Finally, they reached it.</p>
<p>Joe did not need instruction. He went directly to the stream’s edge, dipped his head, and began to lap greedily.</p>
<p>Nicky stood back and watched for a moment.</p>
<p>He liked Joe.</p>
<p>He liked Joe’s dark, tightly coiled, curls. He liked the way they scratched against his own fur. He liked Joe’s sharp fox muzzle. It looked smart and curious and brave. He liked Joe’s scent, warm and friendly. He liked Joe’s smile. No, wolves couldn’t smile, but Nicky’s wolf sensed Joe would smile if he could, and that was enough.</p>
<p>And Joe was fast!</p>
<p>
  <em>Fast was good! </em>
</p>
<p>Nicky stepped beside Joe, dipped his head, and drank. This was the sweetest water for many miles.</p>
<p>The stream had another advantage.</p>
<p>When they’d drank their fill, Nicky led Joe the nearby cave.</p>
<p>Nicky strode around the dry interior, then he fell to the ground, lay his head down, closed his eyes, and put his paw over his muzzle in a pantomime of sleep.</p>
<p>
  <em>See? This is a nice place to rest. </em>
</p>
<p>Joe woofed than did what amounted to a little impatient dance, hopping about.</p>
<p>
  <em>But I don’t want to rest! I want to play!</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky couldn’t argue with that. He got to his paws, and the two swept out of the cave.</p>
<p>Nicky was looking about when he felt a sharp tug at the tip of his tail. He whipped around, but Joe was gone!</p>
<p>Nicky sniffed and listened and followed the trail to a fallen log. He put his two forepaws on the trunk and looked over.</p>
<p>
  <em>Woof!</em>
</p>
<p>Joe popped up from crouched position behind the tree and did his little dance, his tail wagging furiously.</p>
<p>
  <em>Gotcha!</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky tried to laugh, but being a wolf, he couldn’t. He snuffled instead.</p>
<p>
  <em>My turn, my turn, my turn!</em>
</p>
<p>Hours passed.</p>
<p>First, they played hide-and-seek by the cave, and hide-and-seek eventually evolved into tag.</p>
<p>Nicky guided Joe through the densest parts of the forest, stopping to sniff and paw at things he thought Joe should see, patches of mushrooms, unusual rock formations, and tracks of other animals.</p>
<p>Once in a more open area, they settled into the game of tag, one nipping at the other’s tail and running until the other caught up and nipped him back.</p>
<p>Tag gave way wrestling and mock fighting.</p>
<p>
  <em>Joe was a good fighter!</em>
</p>
<p>The night wore on.</p>
<p>They returned to the forest, exploring side-by-side, until Nicky’s nose caught something on the air.</p>
<p>He woofed and went to investigate, not doubting for a moment that Joe would follow.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>What was he doing?</em>
</p>
<p>Joe imitated the lone wolf’s slow cautious gait. He sniffed.</p>
<p>
  <em>Ah, deer. </em>
</p>
<p>Joe did not feel hunger as a wolf, but he supposed if he was accustomed to spending his full moons in a place with natural prey, he might feel differently. If nothing else, his hunting instincts would be much sharper than they were.   </p>
<p>Joe heard the struggle and smelled the panic. Then they came upon it, a young deer trapped under a heavy limb.</p>
<p>Joe barked his protest. This didn’t seem sporting at all!</p>
<p>But then Joe watched as the lone wolf flattened himself to the ground some distance from the deer, who by this time was almost hysterical with fright. The lone wolf paid no attention to the deer. He simply slid himself under the limb. He got to his feet, the limb lying across his broad shoulders, and lifted it up and off the deer.</p>
<p>The deer fled, limping, and the lone wolf turned back, moving in the opposite direction. He gave Joe’s nose a quick, absent-minded lick as he passed.</p>
<p>Joe was, once again, surprised. If he could’ve laughed, he would’ve. What he did instead was to run quickly behind the lone wolf and, using a downed log as a springboard, launch himself into the air, over the lone wolf’s back, landed directly in front of him.</p>
<p>He turned and barked.</p>
<p>
  <em>What do you think of that? I got surprises in me, too!</em>
</p>
<p>The lone wolf nuzzled and snuffled on either side of Joe’s neck, his tail wagging furiously. Joe leaned into the touch and panted his satisfaction.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The last thing Joe remembered before night began to loosen its hold on the world was a long, seemingly circuitous route that led to a precipice.</p>
<p>At the edge of the sharp slope, the lone wolf sat on his hindlegs. Joe dutifully folded himself beside him.</p>
<p>The moon, round and silvery, was before them. It was still dark.</p>
<p>They gazed at the moon, their tails thumping the ground.</p>
<p>At one point, Joe turned his head and saw a moth was perched daintily on the tip of the lone wolf’s nose, its fairy gossamer wings opening and closing unhurriedly.  The wolf sat so still he might have been a statue, or a product of taxidermy. Even his tail temporarily stilled its drumming of the earth.</p>
<p>Joe watched, and when moth took flight, he very slowly and very carefully, extended his muzzle toward the lone wolf—and licked his nose!</p>
<p>Joe thought he could taste the moth’s grainy magic on his tongue.</p>
<p>The lone wolf woofed, then curled towards Joe and made a circle motion with his head and rubbed along the right side of Joe’s neck. He found a spot, the spot that made Joe positively melt.</p>
<p>Much too soon for Joe, the lone wolf returned to his staring.  </p>
<p>Eventually, the lone wolf got to his paws, threw back his head, and howled.</p>
<p>It was a magnificent howl.</p>
<p>It was <em>Alpha</em>.</p>
<p>And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, Joe could do, but get to his own paws and join him in the cry.</p>
<p>Joe really didn’t want the night to end, but it did. He made one tentative attempt to invite the lone wolf back to the Old Guard cabin, but this was rebuffed with a growl and a flash of canines, the first display of anger the lone wolf had made all night.</p>
<p>Joe felt chastened and embarrassed, but he didn’t whimper. He didn’t. But perhaps his tail drooped a little as he turned and took his leave. His head might have dipped, too, because after all, he was sniffing his way back to a new destination. That was all. Joe wasn’t at all sorry that this lone Alpha wolf preferred to change back to his human form in his own nest rather than in Joe’s. It was understandable. Really, anything else would be illogical. Not to say presumptuous.</p>
<p>Joe felt the swipe of a warm wet tongue across his nose, but before he could even raise his head to return the farewell, the lone wolf had disappeared into the fading shroud of darkness.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Joe woke up much later than was his custom after a full moon. His body evidenced the usual soreness, but the muscles of his face burned with cramp, fixed as they had been in a goofy smile since his return to human form. A silly poem he’d read once bubbled to his lips.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>A wolf is at the Laundromat,<br/>it's not a wary stare-wolf,<br/>it's short and fat, it tips its hat,<br/>unlike a scary glare-wolf.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>It combs its hair, it clips its toes,<br/>it is a fairly rare wolf,<br/>that's only there to clean its clothes—<br/>it is a wash-and-wear-wolf.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>About half a mile away, at that same late morning hour, Nicky was already dressed and shaved and sitting at a table, his long nose buried in Joe’s white T-shirt, attempting to puzzle out the near-faded scent.  </p>
<p><em>Bitter coffee, sweet cinnamon, and</em>… Nicky went through events of the previous night, trying to link the wolf’s acute sense of smell with his human’s pattern-finding faculty…<em>something warm and yielding</em>…Nicky tried to forcibly loosen his imagination…<em>could it really be sand?…but sand didn’t smell like anything…or did it?...but it was not the kind of sand that led to water…it was the kind of sand that led to more sand…not an oasis, more like the last outpost before a desert</em>…<em>Madre di Dio, I sound like a madman! </em></p>
<p>
  <em>Enough!</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky opened his eyes. He neatly refolded the T-shirt and set it atop the pile of clothes. He stood and turned and took a deep breath and, for the first time in months, surveyed his dwindling larder with more disappointment than disinterest.</p>
<p>He would do the best he could, he told himself, but Joe deserved much better.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nicky is thinking of a line from Rudyard Kipling's short story "The Cat that Walked By Himself" from <i>Just So Stories</i>, and Yusuf is quoting "A Wolf is at the Laundromat" by Jack Prelutsky.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Introductions and a picnic at the cave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The day after the full moon, Nicky goes to the Old Guard cabin and introduces himself. Joe's smitten. Days later, Joe invites Nicky on a picnic, which goes well except for Nicky reacting violently to being woken up from a nap. Things go better in the afternoon, and Joe and Nicky exchange phone numbers, but the chapter ends on an angsty Nicky note.</p>
<p>TW: knives and a drop of blood.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite the late start, Joe put in three solid hours of work before he knocked off for lunch. After lunch, he contemplated returning to work, but instinct told him to look out the front window of the Old Guard cabin first.</p>
<p>Joe spied something moving in the distance. He dug out Quynh’s ‘bird-watching’ binoculars and was rewarded with the sight of what must have been the lone wolf trying to work up the nerve to pay the Old Guard cabin and its current occupant a visit.</p>
<p>The human figure grew larger, clearer, then stopped and rubbed its head. Then it did an about-face and retreated the way it had come, disappearing in a kind of hurried scramble. About thirty seconds later, it reappeared, advancing a bit further towards the Old Guard cabin, slowly, steadily.  Then it stopped, again and rubbed its head, again.</p>
<p>Joe watched three cycles of this before he decided he would make something of a welcome party, that is, he would brush his hair and wash his face and comb his beard, put on his nice jacket, and sit himself down on the front steps of the cabin. He would then wait and see if and when his neighbor arrived.</p>
<p>Joe smiled when the lone wolf came into view carrying a basket. A sharp sniff told him there was more than his clothes in the receptacle.</p>
<p>
  <em>…turmeric, ginger, cinnamon, peppers, a kind of meat, not beef, not lamb, venison…so he just whips up that by chance…or does he know something about me…from Andy or Quynh…or can he just tell…</em>
</p>
<p>Joe shivered, but his wolf was already wagging its tail and licking its chops.</p>
<p>Having only caught fleeting glances at the lone wolf’s human form in profile, Joe was eager to finally get a good look at him.</p>
<p>Joe quickly found that he liked his neighbor as readily and wholly as his wolfen counterpart had.</p>
<p>Joe liked the lone wolf’s face, light colored eyes and that prominent nose that still begged to be sketched. Or sculpted, too bad Joe was no good with a chisel or clay.</p>
<p>Joe liked the broad shoulders, which still, in Joe’s mind, retained a ghost of the majesty of the wolf’s mantle. Joe liked the shaggy brown hair and the way the lone wolf moved, well, the way he moved half of the time. He could stride solemnly and purposefully, but then he vacillated.</p>
<p>The lone wolf’s clothes hung loosely on his frame. He didn’t smile, but that was okay because Joe typically enough for two.</p>
<p>Joe waited and waited and, finally, the greeting came.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon.”</p>
<p>It was a nice voice, soft and rich and sonorous.</p>
<p>“Good afternoon,” said Joe, getting to his feet.</p>
<p>“My name is Nicolò di Genova. Andy and Quynh call me Nicky.”</p>
<p>“Di Genova?” prompted Joe. “Of name and of provenance?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Ah, of course, the scent. Joe nodded and rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t just stand there, Yusuf. Introduce yourself.</em>
</p>
<p>Joe put a hand to his heart. “Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn al-Kaysani, called al-Tayyib. But everyone calls me ‘Joe.’” </p>
<p>“It’s nice to meet you, Joe.”</p>
<p>“Again,” Joe amended, making the correction as gentle as possible. He didn’t want to cause offense at their first proper meeting, but he absolutely refused to act as if the previous night, or the night before that, hadn’t happened. If the mess with Booker had taught Joe anything it was that no games meant no games from the very beginning, from hello.</p>
<p>“Again,” agreed Nicky with a nod. His expression didn’t change. He extended the hand holding the basket.</p>
<p>Joe took the basket and sniffed. “Smells good. Thank you very much. I enjoyed the food the other night, too.”</p>
<p>“Thank you. I apologize for my behavior on the night of the storm.”</p>
<p>Joe waved a dismissive hand. “You were very hospitable given the circumstance. I was a stranger in your territory. You had every reason to be wary. And any debt has been paid because last night was, well, one of the best full moons I’ve ever had.” </p>
<p>That was the truth, and it was important to Joe that the truth be told, out loud, in words, from the beginning.</p>
<p>“I am gratified to hear it.”</p>
<p>Nicky still wasn’t smiling. His tone was neutral, but his words were stiff and formal, as if scripted.</p>
<p><em>He sounds like he’s in an amateur theatrical. Like he’s rehearsed it</em>, thought Joe, feeling a lump form in his throat. <em>Probably doesn’t get a lot of company. Put the man out of his misery, Yusuf.</em> “Would you like to come inside? Tea?”</p>
<p>The reply came quick. “No.” The addition even quicker. “But thank you.”</p>
<p>Nicky turned as if to leave.</p>
<p>“I have your clothes, too,” said Joe, forestalling him. “They’re still drying out back.” <em>Please, stay. Now where had </em>that<em> come from? Yusuf, get control of yourself! </em>“Do you want to take them now?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”  </p>
<p>Joe left the basket on the steps and led Nicky around the side of the cabin. They walked side by side, with Joe launching immediately into a brisk monologue without prompt or provocation.</p>
<p>“I’m renting the cabin from Andy for a month. I live in the city. I’m an artist, a starving artist, most of the time, but when it rains, it pours, and I’ve got three deadlines coming up, boom, boom, boom, next month, all different projects, and the city had too many distractions. I was feeling adrift, disconnected, unraveling, really. I wanted some peace and quiet to get things done. The noise, the tumult. Andy suggested the cabin. Looks like it’s going to work out just fine. I’ve already had a really good morning.”</p>
<p>Nicky nodded.</p>
<p>
  <em>Stop talking, Yusuf! At least stop talking about yourself! Ask him a question.</em>
</p>
<p>“How long have you been living up here?”</p>
<p>“Seven years.”</p>
<p>“Alone?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“You never go to town or to the city?”</p>
<p>“No.”    </p>
<p>
  <em>No wonder you need a script. Seven years, by yourself, in the wilderness. It sounded like a prison sentence. Solitary confinement. How do you keep from going insane? Maybe you don’t. Maybe you were insane to begin with and came up here to get away from nosy neighbors who ask too many questions!</em>
</p>
<p>“How do you manage?”</p>
<p>“Andy brings supplies sometimes.”</p>
<p>Joe stopped before the clothesline. He looked at Nicky for a moment longer than reasonable.</p>
<p><em>Those blue-gray-green eyes will probably </em>not<em> be the death of me</em>, <em>but it won’t be for lack of trying</em>.</p>
<p>Joe cleared his throat unnecessarily and spun around. He unpinned the clothes and folded them.</p>
<p>“Speaking of supplies, do like apricots?”</p>
<p>The almost familiar wolfen snort surprised Joe. He looked over his shoulder, grinning.</p>
<p>
  <em>Hullo, hullo, hullo, signs of life! </em>
</p>
<p>Nicky wasn’t smiling but there was a softening of his features, which Joe interpreted as a fossilized smile. Maybe from a prehistoric age. Or maybe just seven years ago.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Nicky hesitantly, drawing out the word.</p>
<p>The ghost of their play from the night before rose up between them.</p>
<p>
  <em>You like me, you like me, you know you do! Deep down, maybe, but it’s there!</em>
</p>
<p>“Do you like apricots a lot?” pressed Joe, in a teasing tone.</p>
<p>Nicky shrugged. “Yes? Did Quynh…?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I think your fairy godmother has sent you some provisions. There was an extra crate in the Jeep, not mine. I didn’t even notice it until I got here. I’m always packing in a panic at the last minute, distracted, throwing everything that might be useful in and not paying attention. I like apricots, but that’s a lot of apricots, especially for this time of year.”  </p>
<p>Nicky made an almost weary sigh as Joe passed him the folded clothes.</p>
<p>Joe didn’t understand. Oughtn’t he be pleased? How much fresh fruit did he get up here in the winter?</p>
<p>But Nicky was looking over Joe’s shoulder, frowning. “Is that all the wood you have?”</p>
<p>“It’s not all the wood I have, but it’s all the wood that’s chopped.” Joe turned toward the wood pile. “If you know anything about Andy’s, it’s risible, but the axe she left behind has seen better days.”</p>
<p>“Show me,” said Nicky abruptly. “Please,” he added in a tone that was a bit like the whine of a child after at a mother’s sharp look.</p>
<p>Joe fetched the axe.</p>
<p>Nicky looked at it and made disapproving noises. “No, this won’t do at all. And you’re going to need a lot more wood than that. I can sharpen and fix this,” he scrutinized the blade and the handle, “and help you cut the rest.”</p>
<p>“The crate of food is heavy. I can drive it and you down and bring you back in the Jeep if you want to do it now.”</p>
<p>Nicky hummed.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I’ll stay here,” said Joe when he stopped the Jeep by Nicky’s cabin.</p>
<p>Nicky nodded.</p>
<p>Joe decided what he most wanted to do was curl up into this creature who was filling his Jeep with a Mediterranean—his side of that body of water, not Joe’s, Joe was still kicking himself for not putting it together sooner—aroma.</p>
<p>
  <em>Curl up into him and—what? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And be safe from the world together. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Allah be merciful, you’ve lost your mind, Yusuf. </em>
</p>
<p>Nicky was already hauling the crate of food up the steps when Joe decided that it would be a very bad decision to start pining after a recluse who probably didn’t care for company of any kind, much less Joe’s kind, two days after they’d met.</p>
<p>
  <em>What happened to ‘just art,’ Joe?</em>
</p>
<p>Joe pulled himself together and kept himself together, that is, until he and Nicky were back at the Old Guard cabin chopping wood.</p>
<p>They were both down to undershirts and sweating profusely, and it was becoming difficult not to openly ogle Nicky. Only one thing was saving Joe, and that was shame. Great manly shame!  He was chopping one to Nicky’s three!</p>
<p>“I have too much practice,” said Nicky, reading Joe’s thoughts. It seemed like he was staring at the block of wood, trying to cleave it with a single thought.</p>
<p>Joe recalled the scene through the window when Nicky was standing motionless by the rack of wet clothes.</p>
<p>Nicky gave a curt shake of his head and swung his axe with a decisive—and sexy—whack.</p>
<p>Joe took a deep breath—<em>don’t do it, don’t do it,</em> <em>of course, he was going to do it</em>—and said gently,</p>
<p>“You know it’s okay.”</p>
<p>“What?” asked Nicky, stopping and giving Joe his full attention.</p>
<p>“If later you want to say what you were thinking of saying just now.”</p>
<p>Nicky’s eyebrows jumped. His eyes widened.</p>
<p>Joe shot him a look.</p>
<p>
  <em>I can read you, too, you know. </em>
</p>
<p>It was as if Joe had tapped Nicky on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.</p>
<p>“But it might not be appropriate,” Nicky protested quietly and, Joe thought, earnestly.</p>
<p>
  <em>Seven years alone. It’d be easy to forget what was appropriate or not. </em>
</p>
<p>Joe dropped his axe, extended both arms wide, and twisted at the waist, making a sweeping gesture at their surroundings.</p>
<p>“Who the fuck’s to say but me?”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>“Who the fuck’s to say but me?”</em>
</p>
<p>Joe made a good point, Nicky thought, which he then followed up with something Nicky was not expecting at all.</p>
<p>“Please don’t think I don’t want to hear what you have to say, Nicolò.”  </p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>
  <em>He said my name. Out loud. My real name.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>That’s just the wolf. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Not just the wolf.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Yes, just the wolf.</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky might have stayed like that, debating within himself, surrendering to inertia and silence, but his wolf’s affinity for Joe’s was too strong. It temporarily overwhelmed the human’s dithering.</p>
<p>Nicky blinked slowly. His eyes went from Joe to the wood to the cabin to the axe in his hand.</p>
<p>
  <em>Here goes.</em>
</p>
<p>“Your scent is,” Nicky searched for a word and finally settled inadequately for, “soothing.” He glanced at Joe, expecting to see embarrassment or incomprehension or polite blankness but, no, Joe was smiling.</p>
<p>Joe, judging by the hour in which Nicky had known him, was <em>always</em> smiling.</p>
<p>Nicky liked it because he liked the smile, it was handsome and warm and friendly and it reached all the way to Joe’s dark brown eyes, which were also handsome and warm and friendly.</p>
<p>But Joe’s smile also disconcerted Nicky. He was certain that most people didn’t smile as often as Joe. Maybe it was a medical condition.</p>
<p>“That’s nice,” said Joe. “What do I smell like?”</p>
<p>Nicky told him.</p>
<p>When Nicky had finished, Joe’s forehead was wrinkled.</p>
<p>“All that? You got all that from a sniff of a shirt? Is that’s why you made the tagine?”</p>
<p>“It’s a poor imitation. I haven’t anything fresh. I haven’t any skill at cooking either.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense. That fish the other night was the tits.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” </p>
<p>Joe was still smiling. Maybe he was crazy. Nicky briefly hoped that Joe’s kind of crazy wouldn’t be the kind that aggravated his own kind of crazy.</p>
<p>Then Nicky glanced at the horizon and noted the dimming light. He felt a sudden and undeniable dread that not even Joe’s soothing scent, thick as it was with from his perspiring, could assuage.</p>
<p>He wanted desperately to leave. This was too much. He wasn’t good with people, even good, kind, smiling people. He gave a hard jerk of his head toward the wood.</p>
<p>
  <em>Please, no more talking. </em>
</p>
<p>“Yeah,” said Joe. “Let’s finish this. I’ll carry it in later.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>For three days, Joe kept himself to himself, establishing a routine and settling into a productive rhythm. He told himself, frequently, that he didn’t want to bother Nicky. And he knew, as Andy had said, that Nicky would not bother him. More’s the pity. Joe wouldn’t have minded Nicky’s bother at all.</p>
<p>Thus, on the morning of the fourth day, Joe marched to Nicky’s cabin, telling himself he had a perfectly valid reason for doing so.</p>
<p>“Hello?” he called. “Nicky?”</p>
<p>When Nicky stepped out onto the porch, relief washed over Joe.</p>
<p>
  <em>Not hiding today. Good.</em>
</p>
<p>“Good morning, Joe.”</p>
<p>
  <em>My name. Also good.</em>
</p>
<p>“Just returning your pot. The stew was delicious. Thank you.”</p>
<p>Nicky took the pot.</p>
<p>Joe took a deep breath.</p>
<p>“Are you busy?”</p>
<p>Nicky shook his head.</p>
<p>Not many words today, thought Joe. He supposed some days were like that, not his days, of course, but someone’s. Nicky’s, apparently.</p>
<p>“Picnic?”</p>
<p>Nicky’s lips twitched.  </p>
<p>“It’s shaping up to be a gorgeous day, but I have a more specific reason. Would you mind showing me the cave? I want to sketch it. The light’s so good this morning, but I don’t think I can find my way there by myself,” Joe patted his large, heavy backpack, “I brought lunch, more than enough for two.”</p>
<p>Nicky nodded. “All right. A minute, please?”</p>
<p>
  <em>All the time in the world, love.</em>
</p>
<p>“Of course. I’ll wait here.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>Joe assumed they’d be hiking in silence, so he was pleasantly surprised when, as soon as they’d left the cabin, Nicky said,</p>
<p>“I’d like to hear about your art if you want to talk about it.”</p>
<p>“Oh! Are you sure? Once I get started, I might not be able to stop.”</p>
<p>Nicky halted abruptly and twisted his face in what Joe recognized as in perfect imitation of himself on the day they’d chopped wood together. Nicky extended his arms and turned about.  </p>
<p>Joe laughed. “Who the fuck cares if I talk your ear off about my art?”</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>“Who the fuck cares if I talk your ear off about my art?”</em>
</p>
<p>“Only me and I’m the one asking,” said Nicky.</p>
<p>And so, as Nicky had hoped, Joe talked.</p>
<p>He talked about the two paintings he would have in a gallery show. He talked about the children’s book of Maghrebi lullabies he was illustrating. He talked about the designs for three Tarot cards he was contributing to raise funds for good cause.</p>
<p>“Can you guess what one of the Tarot cards I drew was?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“The Hermit!” Joe cackled and hopped in front of Nicky. He turned and walked backwards and cried in a sing-song voice, “I came to the right place. Lucky me!”</p>
<p>Nicky flushed and looked at the ground. In that moment, Joe looked so much like his wolf, it made Nicky’s heart skip a beat. “Lucky you,” he echoed flatly, but he did think it was funny.  He was, after all, a hermit. He even had a cave.</p>
<p>“Just teasing,” said Joe softly.</p>
<p>Without looking up, Nicky replied, just as softly, “I know. It’s funny.”</p>
<p>The affection and camaraderie of their wolves was something Nicky felt keenly and physically, like an effervescent layer of deep skin. He wanted to throw an arm around Joe’s shoulders. To ruffle his hair. Something.</p>
<p>He wouldn’t, of course.</p>
<p>When they reached the stream, Joe said, “Let’s eat first. I might lose track of time if things go well, and I don’t want you to go hungry. Sandwiches. I brought a little bit of everything so you can make it the way you like.”</p>
<p>They sat.</p>
<p>“Wow, that’s some blade,” said Joe when Nicky unsheathed the knife at his waist to help with the slicing of bread and tomato and cheese and hard-boiled egg.</p>
<p>“Thank you.”  </p>
<p>Nicky felt the weight of Joe’s inquisitive stare, but he didn’t want to talk about his knife or anything else about himself, really, so he asked about the jar of harissa Joe had brought. By the time Joe had exhausted that topic, they were eating, Nicky enjoying a modest amount of the spicy paste smeared on his bread while Joe’s sandwich was slathered with it.</p>
<p>While they ate, Nicky began to systematically pose the questions he’d rehearsed in his mind. He asked about Joe’s art, how he worked, what he used, where he had studied, what he liked about it, what artists he admired.</p>
<p>It was a pleasure to listen to the responses, the voice and the words, the erudite passion and the evident vocation. It was nice to simply have a conversation. Not that Nicky contributed much, but that was nice, too. Joe would say ‘you know?’ or ‘have you seen it?’ or ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard of,’ simple things to which Nicky could make noises of assent or denial and keep the flow going without interjecting too much of himself and without thinking too much about if he was saying the right thing or not.</p>
<p>Eventually, they had eaten the last of Nicky’s apricots and Joe’s dried dates.</p>
<p>“Well, enough of my yapping about it,” said Joe, good-naturedly. Really, everything Joe said was like that because he had, Nicky thought, a good nature. “Time to get down to it.”</p>
<p>It occurred to Nicky, suddenly and sharply, that Joe was asking him to leave.</p>
<p>Nicky stood and looked about. He wasn’t certain what to with his hands or his feet or how to make his exit. He wiped his knife on his trousers and sheathed it.</p>
<p>“I’d love for you to stay.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Was he just being polite?</em>
</p>
<p>“Truly,” added Joe, touching his hand to his heart. It was a gesture Nicky found he liked very much.  </p>
<p>“I won’t disturb you?”</p>
<p>Joe twisted his lips in a wry smile. Then he made a noise with his throat. Nicky wondered what that noise meant; it was the second time he’d heard it.</p>
<p>“Not at all. And I’ll need help finding my way back.”</p>
<p>They packed up and moved to the cave.</p>
<p>Nicky settled at once among the raised roots of a tree. It was a favorite spot and worn so that it fit his body comfortably.</p>
<p>He pulled a book out of his pack. Joe read the cover.</p>
<p>“<em>The Name of the Rose</em>?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Nicky. “It was hidden under the apricots. Quynh’s joke, I think?”</p>
<p>“What’s the joke? She thinks you can solve mysteries?”</p>
<p>“No, she thinks I’m a monk.”</p>
<p>Joe snorted.</p>
<p>Nicky shrugged, but it was very funny. And it was impossible to think of Quynh and not feel something warm and funny. She was just that way.</p>
<p>Nicky had settled easily but it took Joe much longer. He strode back and forth in front of the mouth of the cave, pausing to stare and then sketch. He squatted. He looked up. He shaded his eyes. Finally, he chose a spot very near to Nicky, so near that he could’ve reached down and petted Nicky’s head. He produced from his large backpack a pair of collapsed stools. He sat on one and spread out a cloth on the other.</p>
<p>Nicky watched silently. Joe didn’t seem to notice or care. Nicky liked Joe’s expression, serious and absorbed.</p>
<p>Then Joe turned his head and smiled at Nicky.</p>
<p>Caught out, Nicky immediately looked down at his book and did not look up again.     </p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Daytime sleep is like the sin of the flesh; the more you have the more you want, and yet you feel unhappy, sated and unsated at the same time.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>There was something to that, but Nicky was drowsy all the same. He’d eaten too much, and it was too warm, and Joe’s scent was so very…</p>
<hr/>
<p>Joe was happy.</p>
<p>It was almost—always almost—what he’d imagined in his head.</p>
<p>There were still a couple hours of daylight left, but Joe’s instincts told him it was time to stop. His instincts told him something else, too.</p>
<p>
  <em>Nicky should see this. </em>
</p>
<p>Joe looked down—<em>look at him, napping, he looks so much like his wolf. </em>Full of tenderness and eager to show off, Joe dropped his hand and shook Nicky gently by the shoulder.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nicky woke to find the tip of his knife pressed into Joe’s neck, below his beard.</p>
<p>A bead of blood blossomed around the point.</p>
<p>Joe’s hands were up. He was saying something.</p>
<p>Nicky scowled. He couldn’t hear the words. He just saw Joe’s lips moving.</p>
<p>The blade was in Nicky’s hand, his fingers clasping the hilt. Nicky was on his feet, apparently, about to cut Joe’s throat.</p>
<p>What was Joe saying? Nicky listened, straining to hear the whisper over the pounding of his own heart.</p>
<p>“Just Joe.”</p>
<p>The bead of blood grew larger when Joe swallowed. Then it dripped and drained down his neck.</p>
<p>Nicky released his grip on the knife. It fell to the ground noiselessly. He stepped back.</p>
<p>
  <em>Get away from him, monster.</em>
</p>
<p>Joe’s arms came down slowly. “My mistake. You were sleeping. I woke you up. That wasn’t the right way. Thoughtless. Stupid. Of me.” </p>
<p>Nicky dropped his head and commenced to crumple in on himself, like a night-blooming flower at dawn.</p>
<p>A few words from Joe halted the welling tears.</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t have hurt me, Nicky.”</p>
<p>Nicky looked up, snarling. “You don’t know me!”</p>
<p>“No. I know <em>me</em>.”</p>
<p>Joe’s voice was so hard it hurt, but it was a welcome slap. Nicky knew he chased his own tail too much. He just didn’t know how to stop.</p>
<p>“And I know your wolf,” added Joe. He had already wrapped a painted stained cloth around his neck like bandana. </p>
<p>
  <em>I know your wolf.</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky’s wolf trembled. With his eyes, he pleaded, blinking fast.</p>
<p>
  <em>Friend? Still friend?</em>
</p>
<p>Joe’s lips curled in a warm smile, so high it crinkled the corners of his eyes. He winked.</p>
<p>
  <em>Friend. For always and always and always. </em>
</p>
<p>“Why don’t you take a look?” Joe jerked his head toward the picture on the stool.</p>
<p>Nicky looked.</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>Nicky hadn’t expected so much color. Greens and purples as well as browns. His mouth dropped open a little, and he nodded, glancing from the cave to the paper. “It’s good. It’s wonderful.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yes. It looks more than real, inviting, enchanted,” Nicky reached out his hand, wanting to touch the cool stone, “almost as if you could—"</p>
<p>“Best not!”</p>
<p>Nicky jumped and drew his hand back as if he’d been burned. He put both hands behind his back and mumbled an apology.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry to bark. I just don’t want you to dirty your hands.” Joe’s face was flushed. “Uh, I’ve got an idea. If this beautiful weather holds tomorrow, I want to come back, with you, if you’re free. I want to play with putting a hermit in the cave.”</p>
<p>Nicky sputtered objections.  </p>
<p>“Just the shadow of a hermit, don’t worry. And just to see what it looks like. If you’re willing to indulge an artist’s whim. If not, don’t worry about it. Ever done any modeling?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Was he mad?</em>
</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“You should. You’re a natural.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Was he joking?</em>
</p>
<p>“I mean, you know how to be very still.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Well, he had a point about that.</em>
</p>
<p>“Think about it,” said Joe.</p>
<p>“Okay,” said Nicky. “I mean, I could try it.”</p>
<p>“Great. Thank you. Not today, though. The muse is spent. But we’ve still got a bit of day left. You feel like kicking the ball around?”</p>
<p>Nicky raised both eyebrows, stunned. “Football?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Joe was packing up his materials. He patted the very bottom of his pack. “I brought one just in case. Sometimes when I’m stuck, it helps, you know, to unstick things.” </p>
<p>With his head and body still bent, Joe raised his eyes to Nicky’s and whatever he saw in Nicky’s expression made him smile and laugh. “Been a while, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. But, yeah, let’s go.” If Nicky had been in wolfen form, his tail would have been wagging violently and he’d be licking Joe’s nose, but as things were, he only rubbed the back of his own head and considered. “There’s a spot near the Old Guard cabin that would do for a pitch.”</p>
<p>Joe stood up straight, slung his backpack on, and said, “Lead the way.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>It drew dark far too quickly. </p>
<p>The wind began to pick up, and Nicky’s nose caught the hint of moisture in the air.</p>
<p>“If the light’s good tomorrow morning, let’s do it all again,” said Joe, panting and wiping his face with the hem of his shirt before packing the ball up. “You know, back at the cave, while I was working, well, your scent is,” Joe paused, “helpful.”</p>
<p>“Helpful?”</p>
<p>“That’s not the right word, really. I’ll try to think of a better one.” He zipped the bag closed. “I’m usually better with words.”</p>
<p>“What do I smell like, Joe?”</p>
<p>Joe told him.</p>
<p>Nicky felt strangely exposed and inordinately curious.</p>
<p>“You have an artist’s imagination. And vocation,” he observed.</p>
<p>“Yeah, some might call it a curse.”</p>
<p>“No, no, Joe. It’s a blessing.” If Nicky was certain of nothing else, it was that.</p>
<p>“That’s what I think too—now. So, let’s hope for good light tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Good light. Bad light. Did he, Nicky, know the difference? No. Light was light. Nicky thought of waiting for Joe, watching the sky, wondering. He thought of Joe making the trek to the cabin just to say the light was bad. It filled Nicky with discomfort. What to do? What would make it better?</p>
<p>Joe was still speaking, and he was sounding nervous.</p>
<p>“…or not. I mean, you have your schedule, your routine, your work, your privacy. I have no right to impose on you and you have every right to tell me to fuck—”</p>
<p>“I have a telephone.”</p>
<p>Joe stopped short. “So do I, as it happens,” he said with a tiny smile.</p>
<p>“I turned it off a while ago. I don’t know if it still works. Andy.” Andy was the explanation for some things the way Quynh was the explanation for the others. “But I could turn it on and try—"</p>
<p>Nicky frowned. <em>Maybe this wasn’t a good idea at all. This was why he didn’t talk!</em></p>
<p>But Joe was talking.</p>
<p>“…yeah, yeah, I’ll give you my number and you text me and then I’ll have your number. Good in case of emergencies, regardless. And I can let you know if it’s a go in the morning.” Joe opened the top of his pack and pulled out his sketchbook and a pencil and began scribbling. “And you can politely decline, or tell me to fuck off, if it isn’t your thing.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if—"</p>
<p>“If I don’t hear from you, I could come by and help you out with the phone. If I can. Or we’ll do it all the old-fashioned way. I’m not worried. I’m beginning to think there isn’t much you and I can’t figure out together.”  </p>
<p>Joe tore the page from the sketchbook. Nicky took it without looking at it. He was still pondering the phrase ‘there isn’t much you and I can’t figure out together.’</p>
<p>Joe shifted on his feet as if he were waiting for something, but Nicky only noticed how dark it was.</p>
<p>“’Bye,” Nicky said and turned.</p>
<p>Joe laughed at something and said, “Good night, Nicky.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Joe almost bounced back to the Old Guard cabin. He did, in fact, skip. Twice.</p>
<p>
  <em>Cute boy asked for my number! Cute boy asked for my number! Had a picnic, tried to kill me, played football, and asked for my number! You are one lucky wolf, Yusuf!</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nicky was not bouncing at all. His hand was burrowed inside his clothes, and he was rubbing his chest, from clavicle to clavicle, as if he were applying liniment to himself for a bad cold. He was also noting the creeping damp. But mostly he was thinking.</p>
<p>He’d tried to kill Joe. He’d tried to kill someone who’d been nothing but nice to him, someone special, someone his wolf patently adored.</p>
<p>Nicky ought to feel horrible. He ought to feel the weight of it, here, in the cavity of his chest. This is where he felt the weight of all the monstrous things he’d done.</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Monsters exist because they are part of the divine plan, and in the horrible features of those same monsters the power of the creator is revealed.</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Nicky didn’t know if Umberto Eco was full of shit or not, but he did know that there wasn’t anything new in his chest right now and there ought to be. There ought to be something hard and cold and biting. And fresh. Fresh pain.  </p>
<p>Why? Why wasn’t it there?</p>
<p>Joe.</p>
<p>Joe had distracted him with art and his wonderful scent and football, and the little seed of awfulness, of monstrosity, had not had time to take root.</p>
<p>This was the conclusion Nicky had reached as he mounted the front steps to the cabin. He left the paper in his hand on the table and went to hunt the phone.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>Nicky finally looked at the paper.</p>
<p>Above the number was a quick, rough pencil sketch of two wolves sitting side-by-side on the edge of a cliff before a round moon.</p>
<p>Nicky typed the number and the message and hit ‘send.’ Then he went back to staring at the drawing.</p>
<p>There he was, and there was Joe.</p>
<p>Joe.</p>
<p>Nicky touched the paper and smiled. It hurt to smile but he did it anyway. Joe made it look easy.</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Beep!</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Nicky started. He was still sitting at the table. The phone on his right, Joe’s drawing on his left.</p>
<p>He turned his attention to the drawing and gasped.</p>
<p>“Oh, no!”</p>
<p>He looked with horror from the paper to the thoroughly black pad of his index finger.</p>
<p>Joe’s wolf was nothing more than a smudge! And there was Nicky’s wolf, alone, in front of the full moon.</p>
<p>Nicky got to his feet and spat,</p>
<p>“Best Not!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Both quotes are from Umberto Eco's <i>The Name of the Rose.</i></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The hermit's smile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe paints. Nicky smiles.</p><p>A short (mostly fluffy) chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a grey and misty morning, and Nicky was not surprised when Joe’s regrets beeped through the telephone. Nicky turned the phone sideways and studied the frowning emoticon with undue interest. At a loss for an appropriate response, he copied the frown and send it as a reply.</p><p>‘When in doubt, mirror’ was not a bad axiom, all things considered.</p><p>For an hour or so, Nicky looked upon the grey and mist and debated yielding to the temptation of melancholy. It would be so easy to sink into the morass of reproach and regret, to wallow to the point of abject and lengthy inertia. He’d done it before. Many times.</p><p>Nicky sat on the bench on the front porch and thought, but his thoughts, very quickly, went to Joe. At that very moment, Nicky knew because Joe had talked about his routines, Joe was in the Old Guard cabin making art, thinking of wonderful things and translating those things to canvas with skill and dexterity and ingenuity and passion.</p><p>Nicky decided he should do something kind for Joe, who was so kind to him, and that single impulse pulled Nicky to his feet, drew him back into the warmth of the cabin, and directed his footsteps toward the kitchen.</p><p>Joe, for his part, was not making art. He was, in fact, pacing in front of his phone, combing his hands through his hair, and thinking of Nicky. Should he invite Nicky over for dinner? No, lunch.  Joe realized he knew little of what Nicky did with his day. He had no clue as to what a convenient hour might be. Did he eat early? Or late? He didn’t eat a lot. Or at least hadn’t for a while.</p><p>But he’d eaten well at the picnic!</p><p>The idea warmed Joe. Maybe Nicky just needed some decent company to stir his appetite. Joe filed that particular thought away for further reflection.</p><p>In the end, Joe did nothing. He eventually abandoned thinking of Nicky, allowing his natural impatience to get to work take over.</p><hr/><p>It was a dark and howling night, but the next day dawned as bright and cheerful as the previous one had been dull and bleak.</p><p>Joe’s beep arrived early. Nicky responded immediately and in the affirmative.</p><p>Joe arrived at Nicky's cabin even more laden than before.</p><p>“If it’s all right with you, I want to make a whole day of it. Need to take advantage of the light and the weather, it’s not going to last, probably be gone by tomorrow,” he raised a portfolio case by the handle. “I brought easel, proper canvases, everything. As well as plenty of food.”</p><p>“Want me to take that?” asked Nicky extending a hand.</p><p>“Sure. I do feel like a pack mule.”</p><p>Not long after they left Nicky’s cabin, Joe stopped abruptly and stared pointedly at Nicky’s pack. “The suspense, and the aroma, are killing me. Just what tasty delicacies are in there?”</p><p>“Biscotti. And apricot and apple strudel.”</p><p>“Oh, what a lucky boy I am!” Joe sighed. “Those are going to be perfect with the coffee I brought. Come on!”</p><hr/><p>Joe poured the coffee from a thermos into two mugs.</p><p>“I brought a little thing of milk and sugar and plain hot water. It might be too strong. Doctor it to suit yourself. Now give me one of those. Gimme, gimme.”</p><p>Nicky handed over one of the pocket pastries, and Joe ate it quickly, while emitting a series of appreciative moans.</p><p>“Ugh! Still warm!” he groaned. “Mm-hm! Mm-hm-hm!"</p><p>Nicky set the rest of the strudel and the biscotti on a cloth between them.</p><p>“Don’t ever say you can’t cook,” mumbled Joe, covering his mouth with his hand. “This is a paradise.”  </p><p>“Baking comes a bit easier.” Nicky dipped biscotti into the coffee.  “This is part of your scent.” He pointed to the cup. “Minus the milk and sugar, of course.”</p><p>“Bitter?”</p><p>“Strong.”</p><p>“My family’s been making coffee like this since the bean was invented.”</p><p>“It’s good. It’ll keep me awake.”</p><p>“Yeah, no napping on the first day of your modeling career.”</p><p>Nicky snorted and turned his head.</p><p>“If you’re still up for it?”  </p><p>“Yeah.” Nicky looked back suddenly. He shot Joe a worried look. “Um?”</p><p>“Clothed,” replied Joe to the unspoken question. “Unless you feel a strong urge to get naked. You know, call of the wild, and all that.” He winked.</p><p>“When the wild calls, I wear fur,” replied Nicky solemnly.</p><p>“And a damn nice fur it is, too. But, nah, I mean, I am thinking more of a shadow, outline, silhouette. I could imagine it all myself, but why, when I’ve got a willing mannequin? And we’ve got good light today. We’ll have good shadows, too. That's really what I'm after."</p><p>Nicky looked up.  </p><p>“Eat up,” urged Joe, adding hard-boiled eggs and nuts and cheese and dried fruit to their spread. “My gut tells me we’ve got a long day ahead of us, and when my gut tells me something, if I’m smart, I listen.”</p><p>“Do you always listen to your gut?” asked Nicky earnestly.</p><p>“No, to my inevitable detriment. You?”</p><p>Joe regretted the question immediately, seeing how Nicky’s expression clouded.</p><p>After a long pause, just as Joe was about to say something, anything, to break the tension, Nicky said quietly,</p><p>“My compass is broken. Or it’s like a dead clock that’s right twice a day.”</p><p>Joe's heart constricted, but he was at a complete loss for a response.</p><p>Nicky murmured a quick apology before tipping back the mug and swallowing the dregs.</p><hr/><p>The sun was well into its descent when Joe dropped his rag on the makeshift bench and said, “That’s it. Done.”</p><p>Nicky was standing, facing the interior of the cave. He turned round.</p><p>Joe was staring at the canvas.</p><p>“I’m not touching it. Not one bit more,” he said as if to himself. Then he looked up. “You’re an artist’s dream, Nicky. You put up with all my directions without a single complaint. Let me put you in a dozen poses and didn’t so much as sniff when I finally settled on the first one. I don’t know how you hold so still for so long. You don’t even seem to breathe. Have a look if you want. You earned it.”</p><p>Nicky circled the easel. “The cave is wonderful. So much color. So much life. And the shadow is,” he wrinkled his brow, “lonely. I don’t understand how you’ve managed to convey that, but you have.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Joe began cleaning his brushes. “Hungry?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Might be able to get in a bit of football before dark.”</p><p>Nicky shrugged. “Would you like to go back through the low forest? Sometimes there are good mushrooms to be found there, especially on days like this, warm winter days.”</p><p>“Love to."</p><p>Joe had never, ever been a forest wolf, but he considered himself a quick study in most things, and he thought he was getting the hang of sniffing out mushrooms. So far, he had just been following Nicky’s lead, recognizing the scent and the shape of ones that were edible, but he was planning to find some of his own, and he wanted to find some really, really good ones. Then it wouldn’t be so bold if he said something along the lines of ‘hey, why don’t we cook these up together?’ And then he and Nicky could have their lunch, or dinner, date.  Not a date. Well, maybe a date. A something.</p><p>But having spent most of the day at the cave, it was almost dark. Joe had to work fast.</p><p>All at once, he smelled the answer to his prayers.</p><p>“Hey, will you hold these?”</p><p>Nicky took the portfolio and backpack. “Are you certain? I don’t smell mushrooms.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, they’re right over here. Really good ones. Gems." Joe strode confidently toward a felled, rotting log. “I bet there are some gorgeous ones,” he bent down and peered into the hollow trunk, “right here—ARGH!”</p><p>The air was suddenly filled with a pungent and obnoxious odor.</p><p>“SKUNK!” cried Joe, which he followed with loud swearing and waving of his arms and running around in circles.</p><p>Joe halted and fell silence the moment he heard the other sound.</p><p>Laughter.</p><p>Joe froze and stared at Nicky, who was many paces away from him.</p><p>Nicky was <em>smiling</em>.</p><p>It was a wide smile that seemed to split his face in half. Even from a distance, his eyes sparkled like a sun-kissed sea. And he was looking at Joe and <em>laughing</em>. It was cliché because it was true: the smile transformed him. Joe was looking at a different person, a statue come to life, a philosopher bounding out of the bath crying ‘Eureka!’</p><p>Nicky was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Not a shadow of lonely hermit that Joe had just spent hours painting remained.</p><p>And that rich, rumbling, delicious laughter was the sweetest sound Joe had ever heard.</p><p>Joe laughed, too. How could he not?</p><p>He and Nicky stayed like that, smiling and laughing, until a cold wind ushered in the dusk.</p><p>“Stay far away from me! As far as you can! Save the art! Take everything to the Old Guard cabin and leave it on the front porch!” called Joe.</p><p>Nicky waved. He was still chuckling, low and beautiful, as he moved toward the edge of the woods.</p><p>Joe listened and followed, all the while blessing that stupid, stupid skunk!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The beautiful day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe and Nicky have a great day, but they react very differently to their growing feelings for one another. </p><p>A lot of sweetness, ending on an angsty note of alarm. </p><p>Warnings: Sexual fantasy and masturbation. Some harsh negative self-chatter. </p><p>And here is where we begin our descent into the angst. This ends in a cliffhanger. If you're the kind of reader that is made anxious or upset by cliffhangers, wait until chapter 6 is posted.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two days after the skunk incident, Joe’s phone woofed him awake.</p><p>“No!” he breathed.</p><p>Nicky was texting <em>him</em>!</p><p>Joe rolled too quickly, reached too far, and fell out of bed. In a tumbled heap on the floor, he grinned as he read the message.</p><p>“You did wake me up, you gorgeous beast, and yes, I would love to go fishing with you today. Not that I know anything about fishing. No, I do not mind a long hike to a river. Inshallah, a skunk will show up, and I’ll hear that sexy laugh again.”</p><p>“Yes, yes, yes!” he cried as he tapped his reply.</p><p>Joe stepped outside and thought he understood the force behind Nicky’s invitation. The previous day had been nice, so nice that Joe had set himself up on the front porch of the Old Guard cabin to work on the illustrations for the children’s book.  It had turned out to be an inspiring combination:  sweet songs intoning in his ears via headphones while the rest of him bathed in unseasonably warm sunshine. He’d barely paused for lunch, working steadily until dusk.</p><p>But the weather on this this day, this go-fishing-with-Nicky-day, was even better!</p><p>It was warmer. It was brighter. It was as if a spring day had gotten lost on the calendar and ended up three pages too early. It was a gift, but, Joe sensed, a gift with an expiration date. There would not be another day like this. And if Joe knew it in the marrow of his bones, he knew Nicky knew it, too.</p><p>It was right to enjoy it. It was wise to savor it.</p><p>Joe suspected that the weather between the two cabins was warming, too, and when he greeted Nicky at a halfway spot, he was proved right.</p><p>Joe smiled, and Nicky—bless those beautiful, oh-why-wasn’t-Joe-a-sculptor lips—<em>smiled back</em>.</p><p>Oh, it was going to be a very good day.</p>
<hr/><p>It had been so long since Nicky had extended any kind of invitation to anyone, he was drowning in nerves. He had hardly slept for wondering and second guessing and changing his mind and imagining a myriad of possible scenarios.</p><p>He pressed his lip tightly together as he and Joe set off.  Then he took a deep breath. He had to know.</p><p>“I am not keeping you from your work, am I?”</p><p>“Not at all. Everything’s going really well. The Hermit is finished, and I made solid in-roads on the illustrations yesterday.”</p><p>Relief washed over Nicky, and he relaxed.</p><p>
  <em>See? All that worrying for nothing!</em>
</p><p>As the tension in Nicky ebbed, his lack of sleep abruptly caught up with him. He raised a hand to his mouth and looked away from Joe, trying to hide a yawn. As he tried to shake off his growing fatigue, his hope of a fresh fish lunch was quickly dying. He’d never be able to catch anything in the dead of winter like this! He needed his wits about him. He needed focus.</p><p>“Coffee?”</p><p>Nicky turned his head. Heat rose in his cheeks.</p><p>
  <em>Why do I hide from Joe when Joe has been nothing but kind? </em>
</p><p>“Yes, thank you.”</p><p>Joe found a spot and began to lay out a second breakfast on a cloth between them.</p><p>As he did this, Nicky became aware that he was admiring the way Joe moved. Like Joe’s scent, it was soothing. It must’ve been this softness, or maybe just the muddle of sleep deprivation, that prompted Nicky to confess,</p><p>“I don’t sleep well sometimes.”</p><p>The statement was true as far as it went, but the previous night’s disturbance hadn’t been a result of the usual nightmares. He had simply been nervous about texting a boy! Nicky smiled ruefully at the comparative innocence of it.</p><p>Joe tut-tutted and poured coffee into two mugs. “Have a double, then. We can’t have the fish outsmarting you.” With head still bowed, he cast his dark, soulful eyes up and winked at Nicky.</p><p>Nicky, who could not help but see Joe’s impish, curly-headed wolf in the gesture, laughed.</p><p>“That would definitely hurt the wolf’s pride. Thank you very much. You are very kind. I think you must make friends wherever you go.”</p><p>“Not a bad thing, is it?”</p><p>“Definitely not.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Definitely not. </em>
</p><p>Joe was definitely <em>not</em> memorizing how Nicky took his coffee. Nope, nope, nope.  One sugar, way too much milk—<em>stop staring and say something, Yusuf!</em></p><p>“The illustrations I’m doing are for a children’s book of lullabies and nursey rhymes. I’ll teach you some and then you can sing them to yourself.” Not that I wouldn’t mind singing you to sleep, added Joe silently, under certain conditions. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll help.”</p><p>“That would be nice.”</p><p>“Not that I’m a good singer.”</p><p>“I won’t judge. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”</p><p>“That’s <em>excellent</em> news.”</p><p>Nicky laughed.</p><p>Joe had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something flattering about Nicky’s laugh. Or his smile. It wouldn’t do, he told himself, to flirt So, instead, he launched into “Pāram, pāram.”</p><p>Nicky listened intently and actually <em>applauded</em> at the end.</p><p>“The moral is crime doesn’t pay. She stole a dinar to buy a veil that ended up having a hole in it. And there’s a clapping game, two kids sit face-to-face.”</p><p>Then Joe went through hand motions, clapping his hands and slapping his thighs and extending his hands, palms toward Nicky.</p><p>“Like this?” asked Nicky, and he held up his hands and mirrored Joe, humming along as Joe sang the song, their hands nearing but not touching over the mugs and snacks laid out between them.</p><p><em>Behaving like schoolgirls</em> <em>shouldn’t be this charming, but I am beginning to suspect ‘Who the fuck cares?’ is the theme of this chapter of my life.</em></p><p>After a couple of rounds, Joe and Nicky finished eating and drinking and set off once more, and whether it was Joe’s wishful thinking or the effects of the coffee, Nicky’s step seemed much lighter.  </p><p>
  <em>Good. </em>
</p><p>Joe hated to speculate what had given Nicky those dark circles under his eyes, but he’d managed to extend an invitation to Joe regardless and that was something. Joe still suspected the weather had much to do with it. It was a glorious day.</p><p>As they hiked, Joe sang about Maymoūna who stole yeast to make bread for Eid. He sang about the little fish sizzling on a plate. He sang about rain, and he sang about giving the sun a donkey’s tooth and getting a gazelle’s tooth in return.</p><p>All the while Nicky peppered Joe with questions about the meanings of the lyrics and Joe’s accompanying illustrations for the book.</p><p>“So, it’s saying that when you lose something that belongs to you, you give it back to the earth, and the earth, or life, gives you something more beautiful,” said Joe.</p><p>“That’s a nice thought.”</p><p>“It is, isn’t it? Give a donkey tooth, get a gazelle tooth. The gazelle is, you know, considered the epitome of beauty.”</p><p>“Not the wolf?”</p><p>“Sadly, no. But there’s no accounting for popular taste. We have beautiful teeth. I don’t know why some kid wouldn’t want to trade for them.”</p><p>“Ought to be a tradition.”</p><p>Joe hummed. “It will be if I ever write my own book…”</p><p>And so, the journey passed.</p>
<hr/><p>Joe learned something new when they reached the river:  watching someone else fish, even when that someone has a handsome Italian, sketch-worthy profile, is boring. Joe hadn’t realized Nicky intended to spear the fish with a sharp stick he whittled himself, but even that novelty wore off faster than Joe would’ve anticipated.</p><p>Joe sketched Nicky in his chest high waders. He sketched the river. He sketched the trees. He sketched the rocks. But, eventually, he grew restless.</p><p>“I’m going to go exploring,” he announced.</p><p>“Don’t wander too far,” warned Nicky.</p><p>“Or what? I’m a big boy, mama!” The retort came out harsher than Joe had intended, and he silently cringed at the chastened, ear-flattening clouds that crossed Nicky’s face.</p><p>“Don’t worry. I promise I won’t go too far. Yell if you catch something.”</p><p>Nicky nodded and turned his attention back to the water.</p><p>Joe hoisted his pack on his shoulders and trotted off.</p>
<hr/><p>When Joe stumbled upon a clearing and the entrance to yet another cave, he was disappointed he had already finished The Hermit.</p><p>It was such a grand day, and this was such an enchanted place. It even smelled enchanted. So raw and, well, earthy. There had to be a better word for it. Even compared to the other cave, this one’s odor was pungent. And ripe. And rich.</p><p>
  <em>Wilderness. This is wilderness!</em>
</p><p>Joe considered returning to Nicky and convincing him to give up the fishing. They could just lie on the rocks like lizards, sunning themselves and enjoying the day.</p><p>No, amended Joe as his stomach growled its protest, he would eat first, then go find Nicky.  </p><p>Joe sat on a flat rock near the entrance to the cave and opened his pack and pulled out bread and cheese and tomato and hard-boiled egg and a jar of harissa. He placed everything on a cloth beside him.</p><p>Joe ate, carefully leaving half of everything for Nicky on the cloth, and as he ate, he studied his surroundings. He spied a patch of soft earth between two slanting stones that looked like a hammock and wondered if it would be as comfortable to rest there as it seemed. Joe took off his fleece and rolled it up like a pillow and endeavored to find out.</p><p>He was asleep in five minutes.</p>
<hr/><p>Joe’s wolfen instincts jerked him out of a state of deep and peaceful slumber into one of pure flight-or-fight.</p><p>He heard curious, inquisitive, sleepy, hungry snuffling. He felt the tickle of hot, quick exhales of animal origin on his skin. He smelled—oh, no! He opened his eyes and attempted to calm his rabbiting pulse.</p><p>BEAR!</p><p>It was big and black and furry, and it was looming over him, like a surgeon over an operating table, sniffing him from curls to boots. The bear’s breath smelled of bread and cheese and tomato and hard-boiled egg and harissa.</p><p>Joe closed his eyes and prepared for the worse</p><p>But when the worst didn’t happen, he cracked one eye.</p><p>The bear had moved from his pack. It pawed, scavenging, spilling, ripping, devouring, snapping, scattering.    </p><p>Thank goodness he hadn’t brought the good stuff!</p><p>Suddenly, the black bear raised its head in Joe’s direction. Its eyes were half-closed, but it wasn’t looking at Joe. It was looking up, at something above and behind Joe. It tilted its head one way and then other as if, listening, then considering.</p><p>The bear shook its head, snorted, and waved its ursine paw as if in farewell—or maybe dismissal. Then it turned and lumbered into the cave and disappeared.</p><p>When it was out of sight, Joe heard his name whispered.</p><p>Joe sat up sharply and looked behind him. “Ugh!” he gurgled, speech failing him.</p><p>Nicky stood holding a spear, which bore two large fish impaled on its sharp staff. He shook his head and furrowed his brow. He put his finger to his lips and beckoned.</p><p>Joe donned his fleece, gathered up the remnants of his pack in his arms and followed.</p>
<hr/><p>It took about five minutes of walking in brooding silence for Joe to explode.</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me there were bears, Nicky?!”</p><p>“Because I didn’t expect to see one. They hibernate all winter. I suppose the warm weather must’ve woke Henry.”</p><p>“Henry?!”</p><p>“He was sleepwalking, I think.”</p><p>“Grabbing a midwinter’s snack’s more like it! He ate all my harissa!”</p><p>“You don’t have another jar at the cabin?”</p><p>“I have ten jars at the cabin, but I don’t have any for that fish!”</p><p>Nicky laughed so hard that Joe almost forgot about the harissa.</p><p>They walked on.</p>
<hr/><p>“Can I put this in your pack?” asked Joe, holding the awkward bundle, which was a grand inventory of one torn shirt, three pencils, and the pack itself, ripped to ribbons, and rubbish.</p><p>“Of course.” Nicky took the ball and tucked it away in his own pack.</p><p>“Did you stare that bear down, Nicky?”</p><p>“Henry would not have hurt you. I’ve known him since he was a cub. But, Joe, why did you stop there to nap? And spread out all that food? Couldn’t you smell him in the cave?”</p><p>“Apparently, I can’t smell anything! Skunks, bears, who knows what else? It doesn’t matter in the city. But you didn’t answer my question. Did you stare down a bear, Nicky?”</p><p>Nicky stopped and looked at Joe directly, and Joe found himself half-hypnotized.</p><p>“You did! You <em>are</em> Alpha. Only an Alpha would do that.”</p><p>“I’m a lone wolf. Like you.”  </p><p>“Where’d you get those eyes?”</p><p>“Born this way.”</p><p>“Right.”</p>
<hr/><p>Joe smiled as he squatted to stoke the fire. His back was to Nicky, who was humming about a little fish sizzling on a plate as he prepared two big fish for roasting over hot coals.</p><p>“You’re going to cook them right on this thing?”</p><p>“Mm-hm. With lemon, orange, parsley, red pepper, and shallots. All preserved, zest and dried, nothing fresh, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“Don’t apologize. It sounds wonderful. And it sounds like you, like your scent, I mean. I suppose it’s like me and the coffee.”</p><p>“It is interesting, that.” Nicky bent and reached in his pack and pulled out a plastic container. “And there’s more. This is pasta with pesto and walnut sauce.” He set it down and pulled out something round wrapped in aluminum foil. “And this is forinata, or, um, like a pancake.”</p><p>“Wow! What a spread! We’re going to eat like kings today, aren’t we?”</p><p>Nicky shrugged, but his cheeks were pink. “I hope you like it,” he murmured, giving Joe a sweet fleeting smile.</p><p>
  <em>Ruffle his hair! Rub his neck! Lick his nose! Nuzzle him! Wrap him in your arms. Squeeze him! Tight! </em>
</p><p>The urge to touch Nicky was almost untenable but, remembering what had happened the last time he touched Nicky, Joe pinched his eyes shut and took a deep, sobering breath and told his wolf to calm the fuck down.</p><p>Luckily, Nicky only had eyes for the fish, and Joe kept his eyes on the fire.</p><p>Eventually, they made the tableau Joe had originally envisioned by Henry’s cave: lying on their backs on the grass, basking in the sun, their heads near one another, their bodies extended outward like spokes of a wheel.  </p><p>Nicky broke the silence in the best way possible.</p><p>“<em>Sempre caro mi fu quest’ermo colle,</em><br/>
<em>e questa siepe, che da tanta parte</em><br/>
<em>dell’ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude.</em><br/>
<em>Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati</em><br/>
<em>spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani</em><br/>
<em>silenzi, e profondissima quïete</em><br/>
<em>io nel pensier mi fingo; ove per poco</em><br/>
<em>il cor non si spaura</em>.”</p><p>Joe rolled onto his stomach. “Poetry?!”</p><p>Nicky hummed.</p><p>“Yours?”</p><p>“No, Leopardi’s. Early nineteenth century.”</p><p>Joe’s heart thudded. “Tell me what it means. Please.”</p><p>Nicky did.</p><p>“Is that all of it, all of the poem, I mean?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Tell me the rest. And what that means, too. Start over. From the beginning.”   </p><p>Nicky did.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, sweet boy! </em>
</p><p>“Again? Please.”</p><p>“You flatter me, Joe.”</p><p>“Oh, I haven’t begun to flatter you, Nicky.”</p><p>It was a line, and Joe feared he’d overstepped, but he looked up, and Nicky was smiling a wide smile which was no less beautiful for being upside down.</p><p>When Nicky had repeated the poem, Joe asked,</p><p>“Do you write your own verse?”</p><p>“Just scribblings. I prefer to read it. Do you write your own?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“An artist <em>and</em> a poet.”</p><p>“Double curse.”</p><p>“Double blessing.”</p><p>“Double-edged sword.”</p><p>Nicky hummed. “Double-edged soul?”</p><p>“What? Just scribblings? I have my doubts.” Joe squinted at him. “You’re a poet, too, aren’t you?”</p><p>Nicky laughed and shook his head.</p><p>“I have a few journals, magazines, I mean, if you want to borrow them,” said Joe.</p><p>“I’d love to borrow them. Thank you.”</p><p>“I can just drop them off on the bench on the front porch.”</p><p>
  <em>Any excuse to see you again, but this is a good one. </em>
</p><p>Nicky nodded. His eyes sparkled, and his voice was light and teasing. “I’m no longer disturbed by your sudden appearance on my doorstep.”</p><p>“I’m glad. Can I have another one, another poem?”</p><p>“Yes, but I demand a song in exchange.”</p><p>“You drive a hard bargain, but okay.”</p>
<hr/><p>Nicky started with “Meriggiare pallido e assorto" by Monale and moved on to “Tacciono i boschi e i fiumi” by Tasso until Joe protested, theatrically, that Nicky was breaking his heart with sad poems.</p><p>Joe countered with a sweet lullaby.</p><p>
  <em>Sleep, sleep, you are tired</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your mother is like the moon</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your father is like the stars</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And you, my baby,</em>
</p><p><em> Are the most beautiful jasmine flower of all!</em>       </p><p>After that, Joe and Nicky settled into a comfortable silence, a silence that was, in fact, a bit too comfortable for Nicky. He knew there was a good chance he’d fall asleep and, after the first incident at the cave, he didn’t want to risk Joe having to wake him up. So, he rolled over and asked,</p><p>“So, what’s after The Hermit and the illustrations?”</p><p>Nicky suspected that he liked Joe a bit too much.</p><p>Joe had heaped lavish praise on the food and had eaten with utter abandon, making constant noises of appreciation, reassuring Nicky that he wasn’t just being polite.</p><p>That had been good. No, it had been better than good.</p><p>Watching Joe eat made Nicky feel something he hadn’t felt for a long time. Staring down Henry had felt good, too, not that Henry was a real threat, the big lump.</p><p>But that part of Nicky, the feeling good part, had atrophied and died, hadn’t it? No, it hadn’t died, it had been amputated by Nicky himself, cutoff willfully and knowingly at the same time he’d poisoned the well of his conscious and sown salt in the field of his soul.</p><p>And yet, here he was, feeling soft, good feelings, and it was such a nice day that he couldn’t be bothered with guilt, not today, and really, Joe said the most incredible things.</p><p>
  <em>You are Alpha.</em>
</p><p>Nicky shivered.  Then he realized Joe was talking.</p><p>
  <em>He’s answering your question! Pay attention!</em>
</p><p>“…I know, right? It’s definitely not something I want to tackle on a gorgeous day like today.”</p><p>“So, when are you going to tackle it?”</p><p>
  <em>Please, say what ‘it’ is again, please.</em>
</p><p>“Soon. You know, they call it the Lord of Cruelty.” Joe sighed. “It’s usually someone sitting up in bed with their head in their hands. The nine swords are on the wall.”</p><p>“What kind of swords?”</p><p>“Good question. I had thought of changing it up, but nine scimitars?” Joe scowled and shook his head. “No, thank you. Nine rapiers? That seems ridiculous. Some other kind of blade? Can’t be daggers. Too short. I mean, it says ‘swords.’ I don’t know—yet.”</p><p>“Would a physical reference help?”</p><p>Joe’s eyebrows rose. “Are you offering to model again?”</p><p>“No, I have a prop.”</p><p>“You have a sword?”</p><p>“Yes, a longsword. It’s been in the family a long time. You can borrow it if it will help you.”</p><p>“How long is ‘a long time’?”</p><p>“A few hundred years or so.”</p><p>Joe laughed. “A few hundred years! What, just stashed under the bed, you’ve got an antique longsword?”</p><p>Nicky shrugged. He didn’t know what normal people had stashed under their beds. “Yes.”</p><p>Joe stared, mouth open, and Nicky had a sinking feeling he’d said the wrong thing. He made to rescind the offer, but Joe forestalled him.</p><p>“You are full of surprises, Nicky. Do you know how to wield it?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Do you feel comfortable showing me how you use it?”</p><p>Nicky didn’t know about that.</p><p>“Think about it. We could do an exchange. You show me your swordsmanship, and I’ll show you a bit of tahtib, Egyptian stick fighting.”</p><p>Now <em>that</em> would be interesting. “You’ve got a deal.”</p>
<hr/><p> Half an hour later, Nicky was gracefully swinging a longsword while reciting poetry in his native tongue, and Joe was in real danger of doing an old-fashioned swoon with an erection.</p><p>“So, what’s the poem all about?” asked Joe when Nicky had paused for breath.</p><p>“Orlando goes mad because the woman he loves chooses another. He destroys everything. A knight flies to the moon and locates Orlando’s wits in a bottle. He brings the bottle back. Orlando sniffs it, and his sanity is restored. He falls out of love with the woman, and he and the knight go and fight, uh, invaders.”</p><p>Joe hummed. “Uh-huh. Romantic. Invaders? What kind of invaders?”</p><p>“Oh, you know.”</p><p>“I bet I do.”</p><p>“Your turn.” Nicky waved Joe to take his place.  </p><p>“All right. Here we go.”</p><p>Joe danced with a tree limb he’d carved into a long, slender stick. He waved the stick and spun with the stick and lobbed many an invisible enemy’s head off with the stick.</p><p>He sprang. He spun. He jumped. He twirled.</p><p>Nicky grinned. “You move like your wolf.”</p><p>Joe tilted his head and winked. “That good, eh?”</p><p>Yes, Nicky decided, he liked Joe far too much. When Joe returned to the city, Nicky would be very sad, but Nicky had been very sad for so long that the prospect scarcely mattered.</p><p>Joe was clearly expecting an enthusiastic and admiring audience, and Nicky did his part, shouting encouragement and clapping and whooping ‘til Joe’s last bow.</p><p>“It doesn’t seem fair to use this superior wand,” Joe teased as he handed over his stick, “as collateral on the loan of your family butterknife.”</p><p>“I know, I know, but I’ll take good care of your stick.”</p><p>“I will guard this with my life,” said Joe, nodding at the sword. “Has Andy seen it? She would love it.”</p><p>“Yes, she does love it, and she’s the reason I still have it. She recovered it for me once. So, beware. That’s your fate if it isn’t returned.”</p><p>“Someone stole it?!”</p><p>“Let just say it ended up in the wrong hands.”</p><p>“Huh. Message received. I know better than to mess with Andy.”</p><p>“Yes, that’s a lesson, isn’t it? Well, it’s been a great day, Joe, but I’m very tired and I’m going back.”</p><p>“Yeah, thank you.”</p><p>“Thank <em>you</em>.”</p>
<hr/><p>There were still tendrils of the day’s warmth and the day’s joy caressing Joe as he made his way back to the Old Guard cabin. He replayed the whole day from tumbling out of bed to holding an antique Italian longsword in his very hands.</p><p>Nicky was extraordinary. The whole day had been extraordinary, and Joe didn’t want it to end. He should’ve invited Nicky to dinner.</p><p>By the time Joe reached the cabin, he had convinced himself that he should take the poetry journals he’d promised Nicky to Nicky that very afternoon, while there was still light. He’d use the excuse of collecting his torn shirt and pack and the rest, which he’d forgotten in Nicky’s pack.</p><p>Yes, that’s what he would do. Then he could invite Nicky to dinner.</p><p>Joe stowed the sword in a large, locked trunk and left at once, the journals clutched in his arms.</p><p>He hurried toward Nicky’s cabin. It was as if he were trying to outrun something, and that something might have been the nagging voice which reminded him that Nicky had said he was <em>very</em> tired, that they’d had a long, beautiful day, and that Joe should leave Nicky to himself.</p><p>Joe had almost decided to turn around and go back when the front porch came into view.</p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p><p>Joe moved closer, slowly, silently.</p><p>Nicky was sleeping on the bench on the front porch. There was Joe’s stick lying on the boards beneath him. And Nicky’s pack. He must’ve returned and not even gone inside, just torn off his shirt, kicked off his boots, stretched out, and nodded off.  </p><p>
  <em>Go away! Don’t wake him, Yusuf!</em>
</p><p>Joe ignored the warnings bells ringing sharply in his head.</p><p>Nicky was so beautiful. He was lying on his side, his face turned down and that wonderful nose buried in a ball made of Joe’s torn shirt. His eyes were closed, and his pale shoulders rose and fell evenly.</p><p>
  <em>Your scent is soothing.</em>
</p><p>Oh, Nicky.</p><p>Those shoulders, that waist, and the ass on that man. The fading glow on his skin. The freckles that were begging to be mapped with kisses.</p><p>Joe’s body stirred as he moved closer.</p><p>He imagined removing his own shirt and padding quietly up the steps, layering his body atop Nicky’s, feeling the delicious slide of bare skin, his warm touch to Nicky’s cool one. He imagined tucking his face in the crook of Nicky’s neck, ticking Nicky with his beard, easing both their trousers down, rutting soft and gentle into the cleft of that luscious ass. He imagined kissing Nicky’s neck, licking it, hearing little needy noises as Nicky slowly surfaced to consciousness, aroused, reaching behind to put his hand in Joe’s hair and pull Joe closer. He imagined Nicky turning that beautiful profile from Joe’s wreck of a shirt to the side of Joe’s head, nuzzling, nuzzling, nuzzling like a wolf, needy for scent, and finally mumbling against Joe’s lips, sleepy and wanting and beginning to writhe,</p><p>
  <em>‘Fuck me, Yusuf, please.’  </em>
</p><p>They could fuck outside here. Like animals. All night. Sating each other’s need. Arching into, under each other’s bodies.  </p><p>Joe started at a noise. He blinked rapidly, staring at Nicky and spiraling into an abject panic.</p><p>No, Allah was merciful, Nicky was still sleeping, but Joe’s inner nag was wide awake. And raging.</p><p>
  <em>What in the fuck are you doing, Yusuf? Standing here? Staring at him? Like some pervert with your dick in your hand? He trusts you enough to lend you a family treasure, and you repay him by playing voyeur. Classy, real classy.</em>
</p><p>Joe carefully placed the journals on the bottom step of the cabin, turned, and sprinted back the way he’d come, angry voices haunting him all the way.</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t want you. He’s given you no indication he wants anything sexual, romantic, or any combination thereof with you. He’s been kind to you, so of course, you ogle him and fantasize about jumping his bones while he’s sleeping!  How neighborly! Do you think he’s come all the way up here to live in a tiny little bare cabin all by himself for seven damn years because what he really wants is to get laid by you?! Has he mentioned a wife, husband, girlfriend, boyfriend, lover of any persuasion? No, but you’ve still got him figured out, right? You know what he needs? Right.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And you’ve forgotten Booker pretty fucking quick, haven’t you? That went so well. You really had that all figured out, too, didn’t you? He’s the whole reason you’re here and not in the city. Ghosts on every corner. Regret and bitterness at every turn. All you wanted was some peace and quiet and space. What about ‘just work,’ Yusuf? What about ‘just art,’ Yusuf? </em>
</p><p>About the time Joe’s demons were driving him, half-blind, half-deaf, whole-mad, across the threshold of the Old Guard cabin, Nicky woke on the front porch of his cabin feeling bizarre.</p><p>He couldn’t be sick. He didn’t get sick. He was just cold.</p><p>Nicky rolled onto his back. His fingers touched the nearest piece of fabric and tugged it over his shoulder to the center of his chest, his chest which was tight and throbbing.</p><p>Was he sick?</p><p>Nicky brought his chin to his chest and looked down.</p><p>Tightness. Throbbing.</p><p>“Oh!” Nicky giggled. “What a <em>donkey</em> you are, Nicolò!”</p><p>Nicky couldn’t remember that last time he’d woken up with a stiff prick. It’d been lifetimes ago. But he knew why he was waking up with one now.</p><p>“This is your doing, Yusuf.”</p><p><em>Yusuf, not Joe. Now where had </em>that<em> come from?</em></p><p>Nicky brought Joe’s torn shirt in a bundle to his nose and smiled.  He looked about. Dusk was falling, fast and cool.  He shouldn’t but…</p><p>Nicky snorted as he heard Joe’s voice echo in his mind.</p><p>
  <em>Who the fuck cares?</em>
</p><p>Nicky released his grip on Joe’s shirt but left it lying on his bare chest. He opened his trousers and pushed them down past his ass. Then he rubbed his hands together and spat on one of his palms.</p><p>Then he stroked his prick and thought of Joe.</p><p>In Nicky’s fantasy, he was surrealistically sandwiched between wolf and man, fucking—mating, claiming for his own—Joe’s wolf while taking Joe’s prick. Joe’s scent was the only air Nicky breathed, and Joe’s warmth, fur at his chest and skin at his back, was the only thing he felt.</p><p>Nicky bucked into his fist and came, curling into the back of the bench and groaning a name.</p><p>“Yusuf.”</p><p>Nicky couldn’t resist licking his fingers and giggling. He was as mad as Orlando! But he was also, he realized, happy. And at peace. He would remember this day for a long time. It had been such a good one. The memories and the misery would return, of course, they always did, but not tonight.</p><p>Nicky sat up and pulled up his trousers and collected his things. As he moved to the front door, he caught sight of something on the step. He squinted.</p><p>Oh, the journals!</p><p>
  <em>He must’ve come by while I was sleeping! And, of course, he wouldn’t wake me. He knew how tired I was. </em>
</p><p>“What a sweetheart.”</p>
<hr/><p>After three days with no word from Joe, Nicky was silently composing—and deleting—messages in his head. On the fourth day, he was replaying the day they’d spent together and searching for moments in which he might have accidentally offended Joe. By the end of the fourth day, Nicky had decided that Joe was an unusually determined grifter who specialized in elaborate plots to relieve the gullible of their antique weapons.</p><p>But early on the morning of the fifth day, Nicky’s phone beeped.</p><p>
  <strong>help</strong>
</p><p>Within moments, Nicky shoved his phone, a first aid kit, and some tools in his pack, and with his knife at his belt and his rifle on his back, he ran as fast as his legs and lungs would take him towards the Old Guard cabin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Joe's children's book is <i>Songs in the Shade of the Olive Tree: Lullabies and Nursery Rhymes from the Maghreb</i> by H. Favret and M. Lerasle. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ClPFu9VJCtI&amp;list=OLAK5uy_mNrNQXn3B9xiNQDD6orX8bUnse52lrKBQ&amp;index=4">Pāram, pāram</a> is #4 on the CD. The other songs from this book referenced are: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qtQnCaOhDLk&amp;list=OLAK5uy_mNrNQXn3B9xiNQDD6orX8bUnse52lrKBQ&amp;index=8">Maymoūna</a> #8; <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5pWeALzScvA&amp;list=OLAK5uy_mNrNQXn3B9xiNQDD6orX8bUnse52lrKBQ&amp;index=9">Tita, tita, tita</a> (#9); <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-CpghcJ3-g&amp;list=OLAK5uy_mNrNQXn3B9xiNQDD6orX8bUnse52lrKBQ&amp;index=15">Yā mtar khālti</a> (#15); <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVGPAu-8aY0&amp;list=OLAK5uy_mNrNQXn3B9xiNQDD6orX8bUnse52lrKBQ&amp;index=19">Sannat lahmār</a> (#19); and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D1eJC-VspDE&amp;list=OLAK5uy_mNrNQXn3B9xiNQDD6orX8bUnse52lrKBQ&amp;index=28">Nānni nānni jāk annoūn</a> (#28).</p><p>All the food is from <i>Tasting Italy: A Culinary Journey</i> from America's Test Kitchen and National Geographic.</p><p>Nicky's poems are "Tacciono i boschi e i fiumi" by Torquato Tasso; "L'infinito" by Giacomo Leopardi; "Meriggiare pallido e assorto" by Eugenio Montale; and <i>Orlando Furioso</i> by Ludovico Ariosto. I am using the translations in <i>Introduction to Italian Poetry, a Dual-Language Book</i> edited by Luciano Rebay.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Joe's story</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nicky helps Joe put himself and the Old Guard cabin back together after Joe spirals out of control. Then, Joe tells Nicky his 'Booker done me wrong' story. When Nicky leaves, Joe is worried, so he asks for advice.</p>
<p><b>Warnings:</b> Unhealthy coping mechanisms. Joe's spiral might be considered a mania episode (losing awareness of surroundings, pushing the body to the point of self-harm). Mention of Booker's alcoholism.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joe didn’t wake, rather he surfaced from a dark and cold miasma, pointed ears and nose first.</p>
<p>
  <em>Drink, Yusuf. </em>
</p>
<p>Something hard pressed gently at Joe’s bottom lip.</p>
<p>“Drink, Yusuf, please.”</p>
<p>Nicky.</p>
<p>“Part your lips for me, Yusuf, please.”</p>
<p>A hum vibrated in Joe’s chest, and he obliged. Parting his lips for Nicky was not, and would never be, he suspected, a hardship.</p>
<p>A tiny trickle of water invaded Joe’s mouth, and he welcomed it, swallowing without conscious thought.</p>
<p>The water moved through Joe’s body like a person walking through a dark house, switching on lights as they went from room to room.</p>
<p>“Good. Good, Yusuf.”</p>
<p>It <em>was</em> good. His name, his real name, sounded so good on Nicky’s lips—as good as a sip of water to a dying man.</p>
<p>Joe inhaled. His brain parted the frigid stench like a mythical sea, allowing Nicky’s scent to pass untainted and undiluted through his flaring nostrils. The foulness of the cabin was frozen in walls of cold air on either side of the citrusy Mediterranean breeze.</p>
<p>“Another sip, Yusuf.”</p>
<p>Joe put off opening his eyes and drank. When he had swallowed, his body spasmed, and he was aware that he was swaddled in many layers.</p>
<p>The woodstove made the familiar squeaks and creaks of being fed and stoked. The first brushes of warmth to Joe’s cheek were like tiny kisses, promising a thorough thawing of himself and the mess he’d made.</p>
<p>“Good. Good, Yusuf.”</p>
<p>Joe hummed. “Nicky?”</p>
<p>“Sono qui.”</p>
<p>Joe took a deep breath and sighed and put all his strength into breaking the seal of crust on his eyelids. He took one look at his surroundings and closed his eyes and commenced to wail.</p>
<p>“I’m dying!</p>
<p>“No, you’re not.”</p>
<p>“I’m dying <em>of mortification</em>!”</p>
<p>“Dehydration, perhaps. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation, definitely. The cold doesn’t help. Did you take something, Yusuf?”</p>
<p>“I took the slippery road to perdition!”</p>
<p>“Yes, but drugs?”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t do drugs! No booze. No cigs, either.” Joe’s conscience pinged him. “Well, once in a while, but just to flirt, not to actually, you know, smoke.” Joe did not recognize the gravely rasp of his own voice, which sounded, frankly, as if he’d been smoking since the womb.</p>
<p>“Drink, Yusuf, drink.”</p>
<p>Joe took two more sips of water. He became more aware of the blankets which swaddled him and more aware of the full wretchedness of the state he’d gotten himself into.</p>
<p>“Do you ever,” Joe tried to lick his sandpapery lips with a woolly tongue, “feel two opposite things at the same time?”</p>
<p>“Hourly.”</p>
<p>“I never, ever wanted you to see me like this, and yet the thing I wanted most was for you to see me like this—because I knew that crawling out by myself would be a long, miserable, tiresome journey.”</p>
<p>Nicky hummed. “I’m going to wash your face.”  </p>
<p>The cloth was damp and warm and felt like paradise. It was followed by another one, which was dry and warm and just as nice. Joe opened his eyes once more and found it much easier to look upon Nicky, whose mouth was curled in a rueful grimace.</p>
<p>“I thought you’d been attacked.”</p>
<p>“Only by my own brain.” Joe’s eyes went from Nicky’s face to the room.  He saw a rifle propped up against the wall.</p>
<p>
  <em>I thought you’d been attacked.</em>
</p>
<p>Joe felt ill. He hissed and winced and cursed himself.</p>
<p>“You have every right not to believe me, but this is not who I am, Nicky. It isn’t me: this disorder, disregard, filth.”</p>
<p>Another word was ‘chaos.’</p>
<p>Books, sketchbooks, notebooks, loose sheets of paper, rolls of canvas. Brushes, brushes, brushes. In jars of water, in jars of turpentine, dried thick with paint, snapped in half like twigs. Paint and charcoal, tubes, sticks, crumbling bits, oozing slugs. Plates with molding crumbs, bowls with curdling drips, cups and mugs and silverware. Rags. Clothes. Spills, stains, smears. Things taken up. Things abandoned. Things stomped on. Things torn into strips for no apparent reason.</p>
<p>No apparent reason to any of it.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” said Nicky. Though Joe could see it patently wasn’t okay, nothing about him or the cabin was okay. There was one silver lining.  </p>
<p>“Your sword is safe.”</p>
<p>Nicky looked over his shoulder at the open door. Just visible was the tip of the sword, which was mounted on the wall. “It doesn’t look like you use that room at all.”</p>
<p>“I liked the sofa.”</p>
<p>Nicky urged more water on Joe, which he drank without protest.</p>
<p>The room was warming, but Joe still felt congealed inside the cocoon on the sofa. The water, however, was working, making him more alert and aware of his condition and his surroundings.</p>
<p>The kettle whistled.   </p>
<p>The sword and the kettle were safe. Good to know his madness had limits.</p>
<p>Nicky raised an inquiring eyebrow, and Joe gave a nod, and soon Joe was holding a steaming mug of tea with two hands.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Joe sighed heavily after the first sip. “That’s good.”</p>
<p>“I find that for warmth tea better than blankets,” said Nicky. “But both is best.”</p>
<p>He was smiling, but Joe was readying himself for round two of his defense against the accusations in his head.</p>
<p>“I’m not like this, Nicky. When I can—when I’m not working some shit job to stay alive—I keep regular hours, nine to one or three to seven or both. I keep my tools clean, my space clean, myself clean. I’m not Toulouse-Lautrec, sketching in clubs and setting up my easel in brothels, binging and burning my candle at both ends. I’m like Matisse, like Miró, I keep my routine, my schedule.”</p>
<p>“But you have done this before.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t a question, and Joe read the message clearly in Nicky’s gaze, in Nicky’s tone, and in the words themselves.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t shit me. No games means no games, Yusuf.</em>
</p>
<p>Joe took a long, meditative sip before answering, before admitting,</p>
<p>“Once in a while.” Then he added, “Rarely! They are my Van Gogh moments. When he was in the grip of his muse, he painted non-stop for days ‘in a dumb fury of work.’ Dumb and furious. That’s me.”</p>
<p>Maybe this was him. A part of him. A small part. An irregular part.</p>
<p>Nicky had moved to the kitchen area. He was standing at the counter with his back to Joe. He turned, stirring something in a bowl.</p>
<p>“Rice pudding,” he said as he walked towards Joe, “And I can fix the pipes.”</p>
<p>“Pipes?”</p>
<p>Nicky looked up. “Joe, the pipes burst three days ago. I think that’s when you stopped feeding the stove, too.”  </p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>Joe raised his hands out of the blankets. Nicky accepted the mug of tea and set it beside Joe on an overturned crate. Joe took the bowl and brought it to his chest.</p>
<p>“It’s not unusual, the pipes. My cabin has problems some winters.” Nicky hovered. “I can fix them, but I need to return to my cabin for parts and the right tools.”</p>
<p>Joe’s thoughts were muddled by the vapor rising from the bowl. Cinnamon and sugar and cream. Sweet things, good things, gentle things. “You can fix things?” He hated his voice in that moment, so weak, almost plaintive.</p>
<p>“Not everything.” Nicky smiled again, and Joe marveled at how easily, naturally, beautifully the smile now came to his lips. “Just pipes. But I need to get some things.”   </p>
<p>Suddenly, Joe did not want to be left alone, but damn if he was going to say it. He wasn’t a baby. What he did say was,</p>
<p>“Do you know how to drive?”</p>
<p>“Andy says ‘no,’ but once upon a time, a department of motor vehicles begged to differ.”</p>
<p>Nicky’s eyes twinkled mischievously, and Joe chuckled.</p>
<p>“Take the Jeep. Keys are in the pocket of my jacket.” Joe looked about. “Wherever that is.”</p>
<p>“You’ll be okay?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Joe, suddenly feeling wretchedly ashamed and heartily sorry for himself. He shoved a sweet, warm spoonful in his mouth, feeding himself, playing the role of coaxing mother and relenting child at once. “I will probably say it again and again but here it is for the first time:  thank you.”</p>
<p>Nicky gave a nod and held up the keys, jingling them as he stepped out the front door.</p>
<p>The rifle, Joe noticed, was on his back.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Only when the mug and bowl were empty did Joe venture to extricate himself from the blanket nest. The room was warm. He moved slowly. He only moved at all because he had to take a piss.</p>
<p>The chaos of the room was much worse perhaps because, standing, Joe could see—smell—more of it at once. He stepped gingerly, carefully, toward the bathroom, letting his fingers glide along the back of the sofa, then reaching for the wall. When he touched the wall, he let his mind revisit the past four days and the violence of pushing and punishing his thoughts.</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t think about Booker. Don’t think about Nicky. Don’t think about anyone. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Just paint. Just draw. Be a vessel for the Lord of Misery. </em>
</p>
<p>After a day or so, Joe no longer had to discipline his thoughts. They were well in the mire, the world effectively shut out, and he himself blind and deaf, wholly insensate, to anything but the canvas or the page.</p>
<p>Joe had passed through hour upon hour without caring about anything, except putting paint on canvas and lines on paper. He was oblivious to the lack of water, the creeping cold, his own bodily needs or functions, and, least of all, the growing disorder around him.</p>
<p>And then, at last, he’d tripped over his own numb feet, stumbled, and fallen. Too weak to raise himself, he viewed the mess from an ant’s eye on the floor. He was panicked. His phone had been under the sofa. He reached out and tapped the only message that occurred to the last number he’d contacted.</p>
<p>What had poor Nicky thought when he’d burst through the door?</p>
<p>That Joe had been the victim of an assault, invasion, robbery.    </p>
<p>Joe tried, and failed, to ignore the sharp smells of the bathroom and the shards of mirror on the floor. He couldn’t remember breaking the mirror. He’d replace it, of course.</p>
<p>“You’re an ass, Yusuf,” he mumbled.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so.”</p>
<p>Joe tucked his dick in his sweatpants before turning around. No one was in the open doorway, but he heard the heavy rattling of metal and the heavy thud of boots on the floorboards.</p>
<p>Joe could’ve started cleaning up. He wasn’t as weak now. But he chose to wrap himself in a blanket and plant himself on the floor beside Nicky, who was also on the floor on his back, with head and arms tuck under the sink.</p>
<p>Joe raked his eyes up and down Nicky’s extended lower body, but no charge of lust came.</p>
<p>
  <em>You are in a pathetic state if you can’t appreciate a pretty boy fixing your pipes, Yusuf al-Kaysani. You need to build your strength up.</em>
</p>
<p>“Is there more rice?”</p>
<p>Nicky grunted. Joe warmed it up and ate it all, straight from the pot.</p>
<p>Nicky had said that cleaning would be much easier with running water. Nicky had also returned with the journals that Joe had lent him. And, thus, from these two points, Joe took his inspiration. He sat and read poetry to Nicky while Nicky worked.</p>
<p>
  <em>I love you more in temperate climates<br/>away from the killing sun<br/>and the long and boring Sundays.<br/>I see us here, on the other banks of life<br/>on the sands of the coastlines<br/>among the grasses of the gardens.<br/>We plant roses in the illuminated paths<br/>and cultivate kisses on the trains arriving<br/>from the happy cities;<br/>we pick them fresh from the rain dampening<br/>our footsteps, yet our footsteps remain light<br/>and the paths remain lit<br/>and the trains arrive on time<br/>and you love me more<br/>and you do not delay, or forget<br/>the name of the flower I love. </em>
</p>
<p>And Nicky, Allah bless him, was listening because he would often interrupt.</p>
<p>“Say that part again.”</p>
<p>“Which part?”</p>
<p>“The ghost of poetry part.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Like how life flows from your eyes<br/>and my eyes lap it up<br/>like how the ghost of poetry came falling down on me<br/>from a window in the sky<br/>your absence was<br/>a thirsty glass<br/>in your absence I was<br/>light<br/>drenched in dew</em>
</p>
<p>“You have a handsome voice, Joe, for reading—”</p>
<p>“—oh, well, just like the rest of me then—”</p>
<p>Pure cheek. Joe knew he looked like a dog with mange and smelled even worse.  </p>
<p>“—and you have water.” Nicky stood and turned the tap, and, after an initial sneeze, a steady stream flowed into the basin.</p>
<p>“Hot water. Lots of it.” Yusuf stood, letting his inertia fall away with the blanket. “Everything in the cabin needs a scrubbing, including its current occupant.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to work on the bathroom.”</p>
<p>Joe cringed.</p>
<p>“I’ve known much worse,” Nicky reassured him as he wiped his hands on a rag.</p>
<p>Joe took a deep breath and set to work.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nicky stayed to help long after running water had been restored to the bathroom.</p>
<p>He washed dishes. He washed clothes. He scrubbed floors and tiles. He fed the woodstove and listened to Joe’s off-key singing. He and Joe used some of the cleaning fluids, including a disinfectant that smelled industrial, formidable, that Nicky had brought back from his cabin.</p>
<p>Every now and then, Joe would catch Nicky’s eye, and Nicky would smile or nod and whisper, or sometimes just mouth, “S’okay.” It was not okay, but it was getting much better.</p>
<p>The only thing Nicky gave a wide berth was Joe’s art, not even daring to look at the canvases. He treated the sketchbooks and papers as if they were corrosive to the touch.</p>
<p>Finally, everything in the cabin was set to rights—except Joe.</p>
<p>“Don’t go, please,” said Joe after he’d carried two huge pots of water in the bathroom. “When I’m clean, I want to make you a very good late lunch or early supper of whatever. It’s the very least I can do. I owe you so much. I really don’t know how I can repay you in full.”</p>
<p>At this last statement, Nicky looked thoughtful. Okay, Nicky always looked thoughtful, mostly because he rarely spoke, but this time he looked<em> especially</em> thoughtful.</p>
<p>“What is it?” asked Joe.</p>
<p>“I would like to ask you a favor.”  </p>
<p>Joe’s heart skipped a beat. “Anything,” he said and meant it. He seriously doubted Nicky wanted him on his knees, but that the possibility even rose in Joe’s thoughts was a good sign that his internal mechanisms were shifting back to ‘normal.’</p>
<p>“I touched your drawing and,” Nicky made an adorable tsk sound and rubbing motion in air, “ruined it.”</p>
<p>Joe looked around the cabin. “Which one?”</p>
<p>“The one you gave me.”   </p>
<p>Joe frowned. He hadn’t given it to Nicky yet.</p>
<p>“The one with your telephone number. Of our wolves.”</p>
<p>“Oh! That?”</p>
<p>“Could you fix it?” Nicky pressed his lips together. “Your wolf is gone.” His voice and expression were so forlorn, so full of child-like disappointment; only the foulness of Joe’s own person prevented him from taking Nicky in his arms, right then and there.</p>
<p>Joe went with second best.</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course, but, um, at the risk of ruining the surprise…”</p>
<p>Joe walked to one corner where all canvases were propped against the wall. He turned one around and brought it up to an empty easel.</p>
<p>“OH!”</p>
<p>Nicky’s reaction was everything Joe dreamed of.</p>
<p>Eyes round. Mouth round. Arms up, bent elbows, hands in his hair, tugging.</p>
<p>It was the same sketch Joe had done for Nicky of their wolves sitting on the precipice before the full moon, but it was a painting, done in oils, the same deep, rich colors as the cave and the hermit.</p>
<p>Joe’s voice was soft as he moved behind Nicky, drinking in Nicky’s expressions.</p>
<p>“I was mad-Van-Gogh-crazy but not so crazy as to forget about you, Alpha. I did it for you, and it’s yours if and when you want it.”  </p>
<p>“You’re amazing, Joe. So talented. It’s magnificent.”</p>
<p>Joe turned away and pinched his eyes between two fingers and sniffed. <em>Don’t lose it now, Yusuf, you just put yourself back together again.</em> After a moment, with Nicky’s rapt attention still on the canvas, Joe found his bravado.</p>
<p>“Just wait, Nicolò di Genova! You haven’t even had lunch yet!”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Joe watched with satisfaction as Nicky wiped his plate clean of egg and lamb and tomato with the last piece of grilled bread and gobbled it down. Joe was also pleased that the kitchen aromas had effectively displaced those of cleaning fluids.</p>
<p>The cabin looked and smelled like a home again.  </p>
<p>“I want to talk about it, Nicky.”</p>
<p>Nicky chewed and nodded. “I want to hear it.”</p>
<p>This stirred something new in Joe. “Yeah?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Are we talking about the same ‘it’?</em>
</p>
<p>One corner of Nicky’s mouth twitched. “I want to understand why and how someone so,” he licked his lips and paused, “grounded loses his way so quickly, so badly.”</p>
<p>Joe nodded. “Coffee? Tea?”</p>
<p>“Tea, I think?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>The only things between Joe and Nicky were cups and saucers and spoons and hands. Nicky’s hands were curled round the cup, and Joe’s were folded together, fingers twined. Their hands were close but not touching one another’s.</p>
<p>Joe had moved his chair nearer to the corner and so had Nicky. They might have been at a café, one of those with the tiny tables which demand hunching of shoulders and awkward shifting and knocking of knees.</p>
<p>“So, Booker,” began Joe with a sigh. “Sebastian le Livre. I met him at the bookstore where he worked. French. Wolf. We hit it off. Watched a lot of football, talked about books, traveling. We spent our full moons together. I met Andy and Quynh through him.”</p>
<p>Joe took a sip of tea and let the spoon clatter.</p>
<p>“I’m a lone wolf. So, after a while, I thought Booker might, you know, be interested in forming a pack. We seemed to fit. He’s a big guy, not that that’s always a sign. Large, that’s the word. He’s large. Tall and broad, as a person and a wolf, when he’s standing straight.”</p>
<p>“But?” interjected Nicky.</p>
<p>“You hear that, do you?”</p>
<p>“Loud and clear.”</p>
<p>“But he’s a drunk who absolutely hates being a wolf, the former being a response to the latter. I’ve never met a wolf so bitter, so morose, so pessimistic about their condition. I mean, we all go through it in the beginning, but he just hasn’t ever come to terms with it, ever, yet, I don’t know. Booker’s wound never heals. It never even scabs! I thought,” Joe sniffed and buried his nose in his cup for a moment, “I thought with time, with encouragement, with someone he could count on, with someone to listen to him, with a friend, maybe things would change, maybe <em>he</em> would change, come into his own.”</p>
<p>“But?”</p>
<p>“But his tail was always tucked. He could never keep a job. I bailed him out and bucked him up and turned a blind eye to his bullshit all over the city. And then, finally, out of the blue, he announces that he’s met someone!” Joe laughed bitterly. “And he up and left with this guy, who is an asshole, and went to England!”</p>
<p>“But you’re still in love with him?”</p>
<p>Joe’s head was tilted down, his eyes on the dregs in his cup. He lifted his eyes, but not his head, to Nicky.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m in love with you, gorgeous, but this isn’t that story. That story begins 'it was a dark and stormy night.'<br/></em>
</p>
<p>“No, that’s not it. Before Booker left, he tried to get me to go with him. Well, first, he tried to get me to have sex with him and Keane, that’s the boyfriend, and then he tried to get me to go with him and Keane to London to—wait for it—to be tested, to be experimented on, to surrender all my rights and live like a lab rat so that this guy that Keane works for, so<em> that </em>bastard, can find a cure for us, for werewolves. I couldn’t believe it. I told him ‘no’ and ‘no’ and ‘hell no.’ And he just left. And that is why I came up here. The three projects came in, and they are too important not to give them my very best, and I couldn’t work in the city. I couldn’t think, and everywhere I went I was haunted by memories. So, Andy suggested this cabin, and I jumped at it. Get away from everything. Forget.”</p>
<p>“Am I forgetting? Yes and no. It still haunts me, a part of it, I don’t care anymore that Booker will never be my Alpha, anyone’s Alpha, judging by what he lets Keane do to him. That was important, the Alpha business. It isn’t important anymore. I don’t even care that he broke my heart, I care that…”</p>
<p>“…he broke your trust.”</p>
<p>“Yes!” Joe threw the spoon down and leaned back in his chair, bending his arms, putting his hands on the back of his head. “It was perfectly acceptable to Booker to drag me into his self-loathing nightmare. He really expected me to go with him and Keane. He truly thought I’d be okay with that: to be tortured for who know how long so that part of me might—<em>might</em>—be amputated. He was surprised when I said ‘no.’ And then things got nasty at the very end, the way they do with drunks.” Joe collapsed forward, hitting the table with his hands.</p>
<p>“And the other day, I started thinking about everything that happened, and I didn’t want to be sucked into those feelings again, so I tried to harness them and channel them towards the work, the nine swords, the Lord of Misery, and, well,” Joe made a gesture toward the sitting area, “you saw how that went. I wrecked myself and the cabin and had to call for help."</p>
<p>Joe’s hands were clasped together as before. At some point, his and Nicky’s cups and saucers and spoons had been pushed to the side, and Nicky was hunched over the table, his head bowed, his face hidden.</p>
<p>Joe looked at the top of Nicky’s head until he felt a wetness. He blinked, not certain what just what it was. Then he saw the drops rolling off his own index finger onto the table.</p>
<p>Joe heard the words, echoing back to him from a deep well or a dark cave.</p>
<p>
  <em>The first part of him to touch you is his tears. </em>
</p>
<p>“Nicky?”</p>
<p>Nicky raised his head. His face was a grotesque mask of its former beauty.</p>
<p>Wet, red, swollen, contorted.</p>
<p>He was crying and doing nothing to stop the flow of tears.</p>
<p>It was a sucker punch. Joe didn’t know what to say. His hands went to his pockets for a handkerchief, tissue, rag, anything, and came up empty.</p>
<p>“Someone,” Nicky choked, “someone you cared for, trusted, let you down, wasn’t worthy of your trust, wasn’t who you thought he was, who you thought he could be, he hurt you deeply, so deeply it cut you off from your art…”</p>
<p>Joe found himself in the strange position of <em>defending</em> Booker.</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah, temporarily, but Booker never lied to me, not really, he was just incredibly…”</p>
<p>Nicky sniffed. “Weak, misguided, corruptible and corrupted.”  </p>
<p>“Yeah, uh,” Joe got up and grabbed a kitchen towel and threw it on the table, “that sums him up pretty well.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Joe. I am so very, very sorry.”</p>
<p>“Oh, well, you know, live and learn. And I’m not cut off from my art, I mean, look at all that, I did the nine swords, and it looks fucking fantastic, which is to say, miserable, so mission accomplished,” he waved at the corner where all the supplies were stacked and stowed neatly, “um, Nicky, your empathy is really astounding.”</p>
<p>“No.” The syllable was buried in the towel.</p>
<p>“It really is,” insisted Joe.</p>
<p>Nicky let the towel drop, then he proceeded to fold it neatly. “Thank you for trusting me with your story. I am glad I could help you.”</p>
<p>It felt like good-bye, a very wrong sort of good-bye.</p>
<p>Joe wanted to take Nicky in his arms and kiss his tears away and tell him that everything would be all right and take him to bed and love every inch of him. He wanted to whisper poetry on Nicky’s skin and lick it off and find out what the fuck was wrong and make it better. But he didn’t even dare touch Nicky. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he put them on his head, digging his fingers in his hair.</p>
<p>“I’m going to leave now,” said Nicky formally.</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure, thank you. Do you want—?”</p>
<p>“No, thank you.”</p>
<p>Joe was happy for the interruption because he wasn’t really certain what he was going to offer Nicky, something between a lift home and all his undying devotion.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The next day Joe sent Nicky a text inviting him to lunch. It went unanswered.</p>
<p>“Maybe he’s turned off his phone. Maybe he doesn’t want to get any more SOS messages from the neighbor.”</p>
<p>Joe thought and thought, and the following morning, he made a phone call.</p>
<p>“Did I wake you up?”</p>
<p>“You’re joking, right? What’s up?”</p>
<p>“Nicky.”</p>
<p>“Ah, we have a name! Andy owes me five bucks! Yesss!”</p>
<p>“Congratulations. He said some cryptic stuff, and now I’m wondering if I should be worried about him.”</p>
<p> “Well, <em>Andy’s</em> worried about him, so, yeah, but gimme the deets!”</p>
<p>Joe gave her the details from the beginning.</p>
<p>When Joe was done, Quynh cooed, “Oh, baby, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“HA! Andy owes me $50 and a week of dishes. Woo-hoo! Cha-ching!”</p>
<p>“Quynh!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, um, what exactly did Nicky say when he was crying?”</p>
<p>“Uh,” Joe scratched his head and started to pace, “he said he was sorry Booker let me down, that Booker wasn’t what I thought he was, that, um, he was sorry that it stopped me from making art. Uh, he said he was sorry that Booker was weak and, uh, a bunch of other stuff. Nicky’s empathy is amazing.”</p>
<p>“True, but maybe it wasn’t empathy, Joe.”</p>
<p>“What? I was the one pouring out the sob story, and he was the one sobbing! If it wasn’t empathy, what was it?”</p>
<p>“Guilt.”</p>
<p>“What?! Like that Catholic stuff?!”</p>
<p>“Find him, Joe.”</p>
<p>“Go to the cabin, you mean?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think he’s at the cabin if he’s not answering your texts. I think you’ll have to track him.”</p>
<p>“What, in the woods?!”</p>
<p>“You’re a wolf, Joe.”</p>
<p>“I’m a shitty wolf, Quynh.”</p>
<p>“Nah, not even a little bit.”</p>
<p>“So, assuming Nicky’s not at the cabin and assuming I find him in the woods, what do I do then?”</p>
<p> “You could try telling him your turn story. That might work. Or, if all else fails, burn a cake.”</p>
<p>“What?!”</p>
<p>“I mean, <em>almost</em> burn a cake. Good luck!”</p>
<p>“Wait, what—?!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The first poem is "Other Banks" by Fatma Krouna [trans. Victoria Adukwei Bulley] and the second is a stanza of "Laughing Blue" by Adil Latefi [trans. Adham Smart]. Both found in  Modern Poetry in Translation, 2019, No. 2, <a href="https://www.modernpoetryintranslation.com/magazine/the-illuminated-paths-2019-number-2/">The Illumined Paths: Focus on Poets of the Maghreb</a>.</p>
<p>The bits about the lives of artists are from a very interesting book called <i>Daily Rituals: How Artists Work</i> by Mason Curry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Nicky's story</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe finds Nicky in the cave. Nicky tells his story.</p>
<p><b>Warnings:</b> Discussion of multiple murders and multiple suicide attempts. Nicky's backstory is Dark and Tragic. I wanted a parallel to the canon backstory being a Crusader. Also, Joe swears a lot in this. I have a head canon (possibly a wrong one) that he swears a lot.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Nicolò?”</p>
<p>“Nicolò, sono qui!”</p>
<p>
  <em>Yusuf. </em>
</p>
<p>“I know you’re here. I don’t know how far back this cave goes, but I know you’re here, somewhere. And I think you can hear me. And smell me.”</p>
<p>Nicky’s ears and nose twitched involuntarily.</p>
<p>“As it turns out, I can’t smell skunks or mushrooms or bears or anything, really, except you. But you? You, Nicolò di Genova, I can track down to the snapped twig and the bent blade. What do you think about that?”</p>
<p>
  <em>I think you should leave me alone. </em>
</p>
<p>“It’s getting cold. Really cold out there. Not so bad here in the cave, but I don’t know how you’re kitted out back there. I didn’t come empty-handed. I brought blankets and tea. I made cookies, too. Just the kind in the roll, chocolate chip, but they’re warm. I’m about, uh, a hundred steps from the entrance. I don’t know how far that is from you, but I’m going to set up camp here and wait. I’m going to wait for you, Nicky.”  </p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t wait, Yusuf. Go home. </em>
</p>
<p>“I don’t have all the pieces to what’s going on here, Nicky. I’ve got, like, five or six, and it’s a thousand-piece puzzle. I want the rest. I want to put it all together. Why? I like you. A lot. And I want to help you just like you’ve helped me.”</p>
<p>
  <em>No one can help me, Yusuf.</em>
</p>
<p>“You probably think no one can help you. You’re confused and scared and more alone than you’ve ever been in your life. And maybe you <em>were</em> all those things. But you’re not now.  Because going to the moon to get your wits back? That’s just my kind of gig.”</p>
<p>
  <em>You’re ridiculous, Yusuf.</em>
</p>
<p>“I’m the seventh of ten kids, Nicky, five brothers, four sisters. My father had a business, trading, I suppose you could call it import/export if you wanted to be fancy. We all worked in the business. I was never keen on it, but there wasn’t really another option. I went to Jerusalem on business for my father, uh, yeah, about eight years ago. I was coming back very late one night from a place I should not have been, and I was attacked, right there, right in the city. I spent a few weeks convalescing in this tiny hospital on the edge of town. Less than two months after I returned home, my father got sick and died. It was a blessing in disguise because all the grief and chaos and confusion was a good camouflage for trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me. I took what I was due, which wasn’t much after you split it up ten ways, and left. My first stop was Douz, I suppose that’s why I smell like I do. The desert wolves taught me a lot, but they weren’t my pack. I traveled, working and wandering, taking an art class when I could, hanging around artists when I couldn’t. Sniffing out packs, and never finding one that fit. I thought I’d made it when I got to Paris. But eventually I got restless. Amsterdam, then the city. I met Booker. I met Andy and Quynh. So that’s my story.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Jerusalem.</em>
</p>
<p>“Nicky, I hate advice, giving it, taking it, whatever, so please tell me to fuck off for saying this, but why, uh, why not just close your eyes and let your wolf take over for a bit? You know, he’s better at some things.”</p>
<p>Nicky closed his eyes and breathed. His nose twitched.</p>
<p>
  <em>Cookies.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Cookies. Yusuf.  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Hey, hey, there you are. Here. They’re good, aren’t they?”</p>
<p>On hands and knees, with eyes closed, Nicky was licking the chocolate from Joe’s fingers.</p>
<p>
  <em>The second part of him to touch you is his tongue. The first part was his tears.<br/></em>
</p>
<p>Joe had brought a lantern, which he set out, but he didn’t dare switch it on. He didn’t really need it now that his wolfen eyes had adjusted to the dark.</p>
<p>Joe fed Nicky two more cookies, then poured tea into the lid of the thermos and held it up to Nicky’s mouth.</p>
<p>Nicky drank, lapping noisily, then sort of slumped onto his side on the blanket.</p>
<p>Joe unfurled a second blanket and let it settle atop Nicky, covering him entirely until Nicky pushed his nose out of the edge and spoke.</p>
<p>“Jerusalem.”</p>
<p>“You know it?”</p>
<p>“Yes. I was attacked there, too.”</p>
<p>“Shit! When?”</p>
<p>“Eight years ago.”</p>
<p>“Late December?!”</p>
<p>“Early. There were two moons that month.”</p>
<p>“Shit, shit, shit! We were there at—hell—almost the same time!”</p>
<p>“I recovered at Saint Christopher’s, too.”</p>
<p>“Fuck! The nun with the crazy eye!”</p>
<p>“Sister Hubert was my favorite.”</p>
<p>“Of course, she was. She scared the shit of me! Nicky!”</p>
<p>Joe didn’t know what to say so he fed Nicky a cookie, which Nicky ate. Joe offered his palm, and Nicky licked it. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to do. Joe’s wolf was insanely happy.</p>
<p>Nicky raised his head and drank more tea. Then he dropped his head to the blanket.  </p>
<p>“You can’t help me, Joe. You wouldn’t even try if you knew.”</p>
<p>“You seem to know an awful lot about me.”</p>
<p>“I’m a monster.”</p>
<p>Joe huffed scornfully and rolled his eyes. <em>Not another Booker, please.</em> “Because you’re wolf?”</p>
<p>“No, because I killed seven people.”</p>
<p>The words were a knife Joe never saw coming. They left an open, oozing gash in his chest.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, shit! Here it comes, Yusuf! You asked for it, you nosy fucker!</em>
</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Self-defense. Say ‘self-defense.’ Say ‘because they would’ve killed me.’ Say ‘because they were really bad dudes who slaughtered everybody my village and pissed on my granny’s grave.’ C’mon. </em>
</p>
<p>“Because I thought they ought to die.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Shit, shit, shit, Yusuf! He told you it was bad! And it’s bad! Why didn’t you believe him?</em>
</p>
<p>“Why, Nicky?”</p>
<p>“Because they were wolves, because they were monsters like me, because they needed to be exterminated, because I was an instrument of that extermination.”</p>
<p>“Like a…”</p>
<p>“…crusade.”</p>
<p>Joe’s blood ran cold, but he managed to say,</p>
<p>“Begin at the beginning.”</p>
<p>“My parents died in an automobile accident about nine years ago. I was in the car but was thrown clear. I don’t have any siblings. I was orphaned. I was angry. I was lost. I prayed. A lot. Went to church. A lot. There was a group, a society, at the church I went to. It was a mix of students, lecturers, clergy, and retired folks. They were planning a trip to the Holy Land. I went with them. That’s why I was in Jerusalem. That’s when I was attacked. I was returning to the hostel from evening Mass. The group moved on, but one of the students stayed back with me while I recovered.  He learned I was a wolf. He wasn’t a wolf, and he was, well, fascinated by me. He and I decided to leave the group and travel together.”</p>
<p>“What then?”</p>
<p>“I was angry. I was lost. And I began to think things, very, very wrong things.”</p>
<p>Joe was beginning to think very, very wrong things, too, especially about this so-called friend of Nicky’s.    </p>
<p>“This guy you were traveling with, he thought them, too?”</p>
<p>“Yes. We talked a lot. We read a lot. What he said made sense. He never forced me to think the way he did. I chose to. I chose to believe what he believed. Anyway, I was a monster, an abomination, but I could atone for my sin by being an instrument of cleansing. He and I believed that together we could change the world.”</p>
<p>“A fine justification. I’ve heard it many times before, and I’ll probably hear it many times more. But, allow me one question, just what kind of wolves did you two decide needed to be exterminated?”</p>
<p>“All of us.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Joe sighed and rubbed his face with his hand.   </p>
<p>“I liked, like, fighting. I was, am, a good fighter.  Fighting let me act as angry as I felt. So, I fought.”</p>
<p>“With that sword?”</p>
<p>“No. As a wolf. With my teeth. And claws.”</p>
<p>“Ah, I see. That let your friend out of it. On full moons?”</p>
<p>“Every full moon, a fight to the death, one-on-one, against another wolf, and I won, every time, well, seven times.”</p>
<p>“Your boy set it up?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I don’t know from where or how he recruited the other wolves. I never asked. I never knew who they were. I didn’t want to know. I knew they were monsters like me. That’s all.”</p>
<p>“But, Nicky, you killed seven people, and nobody ever asked any questions! Police?”</p>
<p>“We moved around. How he found all those places, I don’t know. Empty places, rural places, forgotten places. I never asked what happened to the bodies afterwards. He must’ve done something with them. I don’t know what. Another thing I didn’t want to know.”</p>
<p>“He sounds like a real peach. So, what happened?”</p>
<p>“He decided we should expand the campaign. Looking back, I suspect we needed to leave because our crimes were catching up to us. Like you said, seven bodies is a lot, even spread out. But I didn’t question it at the time. Either way, we came to the city. On the first full moon after our arrival, there was a fight arranged as usual.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Against Andy.”</p>
<p>Joe gave a high-pitched squeal, then laughed and clapped his hands together. “How’d that go?”</p>
<p>Nicky’s rueful chuckle was soft but oddly reassuring.</p>
<p>“About like you’d expect. I was left for dead. I woke up in a kennel in one of Andy and Quynh’s bolt holes. I spent the next full moon here, and I’ve been here ever since.”</p>
<p>“Your boy never tried to find you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. If he looked for my body, he wouldn’t have found it. Andy might know. She got my sword back somehow.”</p>
<p>Nicky crawled out of the blanket and sat up with his back resting against the opposite side of the wall. He pushed his sleeves up and pulled the blanket over his bent knees.</p>
<p>Joe nudged the plastic container of cookies towards him and was gratified when Nicky took two.</p>
<p>“What I thought was wrong. What I did was worse. I’m a monster. Not because I am a wolf, but because I am the kind of wolf I am, the kind of person I am. I made the kind of mistakes that people lose their lives and their freedoms for. I took seven lives, ruined countless others.”</p>
<p>Nicky moaned.  Joe sighed.</p>
<p>“Nicky, I am having a difficult time reconciling the wolf you’re describing with the one I’ve met, the one who rescues fawns and makes friends with bears. The one who fixes pipes and chops wood and leaves soup out for strangers. I’m not saying I don’t believe you. I believe every word, but damn.” Joe shook his head.</p>
<p>“I was angry, Joe. Losing your pack is different from never having one. Not worse, just a different kind of lost.”</p>
<p>“You lost your pack?!” Joe started and sat up. He frowned. “When was that?! You said this bastard wasn’t a wolf!”</p>
<p>“My parents, Joe.”</p>
<p>Nicky’s sapphire eyes flashed in the dark, and Joe was suddenly dizzy. He grabbed his head and pulled at his hair.</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck! You told me, did you? You fucking told me! I asked where you got those eyes, and you said you were born with them! I thought you were being cute, but—<em>why would he be fucking cute, Yusuf, he’s never cute</em>—you weren’t! <em>You were born a wolf</em>. Nobody has eyes like that! We all have gold eyes because we were all turned! Oh, shit, Nicky. Your parents were your pack, and <em>they died</em>.” Joe wailed. “Shit, shit, shit! That’s why you walk like that. Like royalty. <em>You were born to it!</em>”</p>
<p>“I’m just like your Booker, Joe.”</p>
<p>“You are <em>nothing</em> like Booker, Nicky! And Booker isn’t, and never was, mine!”</p>
<p>“I’m not who you thought I was.”</p>
<p>“No, you’re a serial killer and a fucking king!”</p>
<p>“Weak, misguided, corruptible and corrupted.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t empathy. It was guilt.”</p>
<p>Silence fell while the pieces fell into place.</p>
<p>Joe remembered the shards of mirror on the bathroom tile and imagined them fitting themselves back into a whole and jumping onto the wall.  He peered into the glass and saw a jagged truth in the reflection.</p>
<p>“You weren’t turned in Jerusalem, then. You were attacked, but not turned. You couldn’t be turned, you were already a wolf. You’d been a wolf your whole life.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Joe’s hands were moving in the darkness, pushing his sleeve up and reaching for something. If Nicky heard Joe, he made no sign.</p>
<p>“When you fought Andy, Nicky, were you left for dead or actually dead?”</p>
<p>WHOOSH!</p>
<p>In a moment, Joe lurched forward. He had a knife in one hand. He grabbed Nicky’s wrist with the other. He slashed Nicky’s forearm and then his own with two clean swipes of the blade. Then he dropped the knife and flicked on the lantern.</p>
<p>And saw what he expected to see:  two lacerations, weeping blood, then slowly healing themselves of their own surreal volitions.</p>
<p>Nicky’s voice was soft.</p>
<p>“Weak, misguided, corruptible and corrupted. And...”</p>
<p>“…immortal,” finished Joe.</p>
<p>“Booker is, too, isn’t he?” whispered Nicky.</p>
<p>“Yes, fuck him. You’ve been like this since Jerusalem?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“Not before?”</p>
<p>“No. My parents, obviously, were not immortal. I got sick and injured and healed like any other wolf. Later, after Jerusalem, it would have been so much simpler to just kill my own monster, but my own monster wouldn’t die. And I’ve tried so many, many times.” Nicky made a noise of pure frustration.</p>
<p>Joe winced and released Nicky’s wrist. “The bastard, did he know that you couldn’t die?”</p>
<p>“No, at least, I don’t think so. I led him to believe I won the fights because I was a superior fighter. It was true, too, until Andy. I didn’t want him to know until I understood it myself. I still don’t understand it.” There was a pause. “Joe? Joe!”</p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>“But…”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to kill you just to see if it sticks, Nicky!” Joe’s head hurt. “What if it works? What if I’m the only one who can kill you?”</p>
<p>“Then you’d be an instrument of justice, of retribution, of vengeance, for the seven lives I took.”</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck that!”</p>
<p>“You should leave me, Joe. Go back to the Old Guard cabin. Go back to the city. Forget me. Leave me here. What I’ve done is unforgivable, unconscionable, immoral. I have my sentence, and I’m carrying it out.”</p>
<p>“What?! I’m just going to turn my back on you? I’m just going to abandon you here in a fucking cave? By yourself? It’s freezing out there! What are you going to do? Rot?”</p>
<p>“Exactly! For the past few months, I’ve been unusually, uh, I guess you would say restless. I told Andy not to come and not to send any more supplies. I was done with the cabin. I planned to come here, to this cave, and just let life and death cycle until my time finally came.”</p>
<p>“Andy told you about Lykon?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“So, you <em>were</em> going to just rot, here, in this cave?”</p>
<p>“That was my plan, but then there was a storm. And I love storms, and my wolf loves storms, and so I decided to wait until after the storm.”  </p>
<p>“Shit! Shit, shit, shit, Nicky! And then I showed up in the storm!”</p>
<p>“Yes. You should go back to the city. You’re over Booker. Your artistic muse is restored. There’s no reason to stay.”</p>
<p>“No reason to stay, right. You are an idiot. And I hate advice! And if you give me anymore, I’m going to kill you!”</p>
<p>“That’s not a good incentive, Joe, under the circumstances.”</p>
<p>“No cookies, then!” Joe snatched the container. “Until you stop talking shit!”</p>
<p>Nicky’s snort turned into a giggle which turned into a laugh. Joe tried to stay angry and failed. He laughed, too.</p>
<p>“Sorry. That’s cruel and unusual punishment.” Joe pushed the container back towards Nicky. “You can have cookies, monster.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>Joe rubbed his beard thoughtfully and watched Nicky eat cookies. Finally, he said,</p>
<p>“Come stay with me.”</p>
<p>“Joe…”</p>
<p>“Get your stuff and come stay with me in the Old Guard cabin, Nicky. I don’t even use the bedroom. Your sword’s already there. I’ll hang your painting on the other wall. It’ll be cozy.”</p>
<p>“Do I deserve ‘cozy’? Are prison cells <em>cozy</em>?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you deserve, Nicky, but I do know that you and I can figure this out. We can. But this tomb isn’t the place. And lying here, waiting to die, over and over, no, Nicky, no, that’s not the answer. Maybe that’s the best you could come up with on your own, but you’re not alone now.”</p>
<p>“Joe…”</p>
<p>“Don’t ask me to turn my back on you. That’s not happening. I’m not dismissing the weight of what you did or why you thought it was justified. I’m not condoning it or forgiving it or anything like that. But, consider this, at the absolute most vulnerable moment of your life you met the absolute worst person you could’ve met. Maybe if you and I had met in that hospital in Jerusalem, everything would’ve been different. If it had been me instead of him, traveling around with you, even though you were angry and lost and all the rest of it, I’ll bet anything you name that you wouldn’t have murdered anyone, ever. Do you think that?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” The quickness and certainty of the reply was all that Joe had hoped for, and it gave him courage.</p>
<p>“I know there is a reason for all of this, Nicky. There is a reason you and I heal when other wolves don’t.”</p>
<p>“Destiny?”</p>
<p>“Destiny sure as hell put me on your porch the night of the storm.”</p>
<p>“I think it was Andromache.”</p>
<p>“Same thing. They both wield a mean axe.”</p>
<p>Nicky laughed. So did Joe.</p>
<p>Joe watched Nicky bring the tea to his lips and drink. By the light of the lantern, he could almost see the gears turning, teeth slotting neatly into one another, in Nicky’s head. He waited. He was done ignoring his instincts, and every fiber of his being said this could not be rushed. Nicky might or might not come to the same conclusions Joe had, but Joe knew he had to get wherever he got by himself. Joe could not be like that bastard and give Nicky the answers. </p>
<p>Joe bit his lip when he saw Nicky’s eyes go glassy and vacant. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t try to draw Nicky back to him. He didn’t reach for the lid of the thermos which was balanced precariously in Nicky’s grip. He just waited.</p>
<p>Joe might have nodded off, but for the loud, sharp sniff, which drew him to attention. Nicky set the thermos lid on the blanket and pushed the empty container out of the way. Then he closed his eyes and rolled forward until he was on his hands and knees. He dipped his head and raised his muzzle and slowly opened his eyes.</p>
<p>And Joe was right there, on his hands and knees, meeting him in the middle.</p>
<p>Joe leaned forward when Nicky leaned forward.</p>
<p>Nicky tilted his head and said,</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>Joe smiled. And licked Nicky’s nose.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Five days.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The first five days of Nicky and Joe living together at the Old Guard cabin. Some sweet moments and some sad moments.</p><p><b>Warnings:</b> references to past sexual abuse in Nicky's very unhealthy previous relationship. Nicky suffers from some PTSD symptoms:  dissociation, hypervigilance, nightmares.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a quiet and peaceful night.</p><p>Joe made himself a second cup of tea after Nicky had gone to bed and sat with it at the table. He peered into the cup; at a certain angle, he could make out the outline of his head reflected in the liquid. He could not see any trace of the bone-deep fatigue, nor the equally deep satisfaction, which had him in their grips.</p><p>It had been a long day, but it had ended well.</p><p>Nicky was there. He and Joe were under the same roof, being warmed by the same wood stove, listening to the same curious nighttime woodland symphony that surrounded the Old Guard cabin.</p><p>Joe was happy, contented, pleased.</p><p>His wolf was ecstatic.</p><p>But it had been a long day.</p><p>Joe had been reluctant to leave Nicky’s side once they abandoned the cave. He had been fearful that Nicky would change his mind about coming to stay with him at the Old Guard cabin.</p><p>Joe had entertained wild visions of Nicky suddenly bolting, simply fleeing further into the woods, abandoning civilization and Joe altogether.</p><p>As they had hiked back to Nicky’s cabin, Joe had chatted about everything and nothing. He had hovered, too, mostly remaining within arm’s length of Nicky.  </p><p>If Nicky had noticed, he hadn’t commented or made any kind of objection to Joe’s prattle or to his nearness.</p><p>But Nicky had been quiet, very quiet, for the whole journey.  </p><p>Joe had sat on the steps of the front porch and listened to Nicky packing. Then Nicky had walked with Joe to the Old Guard cabin, and they had returned together in the jeep to collect the four boxes which represented the whole of Nicky’s life.</p><p>There had been a light box with clothes, linen, and toiletries. Joe wasn’t surprised about the last. Nicky was unusually clean-shaven for a man who eschewed the society of others. No mountain man’s beard for this recluse. Every day they had met, Nicky had always presented a fresh face without a hint of stubble.</p><p>There had been a heavy box of books. As Joe had set it in the back of the jeep, he caught sight of the spines of a couple of the paperbacks which were emblazoned with the near-illegible gold calligraphy ubiquitous of a particular genre. He gave a nod and asked,</p><p>“Are those Quynh’s doing?”  </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Joe grinned. “She thought the monk needed some romance in his life.”</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>There had been a crate of foodstuffs and kitchenware, and, even more surprising than the romance novels, the fourth box, a small one, had held nothing but weapons.</p><p>Joe raised his eyebrows.</p><p>“I don’t feel comfortable leaving them in the cabin,” Nicky had explained.</p><p>‘Them’ had been two pistols and three knives with their respective accoutrement, which, when combined with the rifle and the longsword, made for a sizable cache, and Joe had said as much.</p><p>“Andy and Quynh acquire them,” Nicky had pronounced the word ‘acquire’ carefully, “and don’t want to keep them in the city.” He had shrugged. “That’s how I came by this, too.” He had patted the rifle slung on his shoulder.</p><p>“Do you use them?” Joe had been looking at the pistols.</p><p>“Yes, I read the instructions,” Joe had smiled at the image of Nicky spending long lonely nights pouring over thick, fine-print manuals, “and practice with targets. The knives, too, are sometimes useful.”</p><p>Joe’s hand had instinctively gone to his neck, where there was no trace of the knifepoint Nicky had stuck there. He had read Nicky’s expression. “I told you that you wouldn’t hurt me.” He’d tugged open his collar to show the unscarred skin.</p><p>“I don’t want to even try to hurt you, Joe.” His lip had quivered like a child.</p><p>Joe had resisted the urge to take Nicky in his arms. Instead, he’d schooled his voice to its gentlest tone.</p><p>“You’ve been living alone for seven years, Nicky, and there was a lot of trauma before that. You’re allowed some eccentricities, some hyperviligance, too.”</p><p>“And you? What are you allowed?”</p><p>“Me? I got license, baby. Poetic license, artistic licenses, all kinds of license.”</p><p>Nicky had laughed. Joe had relaxed.  </p><p>“I hope that we’ll be comfortable together, Nicky, but I know you have your ways, like when you get lost in thought and are very still for a long time.”</p><p>Nicky had blushed a deep crimson. “Oh god.”</p><p>“It’s okay.”</p><p>“It’s rude, and sometimes I miss what you’re saying.”</p><p>“You can always ask me to repeat myself. In case you hadn’t noticed, I love hearing my own voice.”</p><p>“That makes two of us.”</p><p>Joe had thumped the jeep and winked. “Get in, you flirt.”    </p><p>Once they reached the Old Guard cabin, it’d taken time to get settled.</p><p>Nicky had stood in the threshold of the bedroom looking in.</p><p>Joe had moved behind Nicky, watching his gaze go vacant and glassy.</p><p>“Will it do?” he had asked when he’d thought Nicky could hear him.</p><p>Nicky had blinked and nodded. “Much larger and softer than I’m used to.”</p><p>The bed and a wardrobe took up most of the room.  </p><p>“If it’s too much, we can switch.”</p><p>“You said you prefer the sofa.”</p><p>“I do, truly. I tried this the first night, and it didn’t suit me at all. I like being near my art.”</p><p>Nicky had turned his head and smiled.</p><p>“Let me make you something to eat, Nicky. Those cookies were a long time ago.”</p><p>“Tea?”</p><p>So tea it had been.</p><p>Joe had been out of conversation by the time he set the steaming mug in front of Nicky. He had watched Nicky’s whole body begin to deflate. Eventually, his eyelids had drooped.</p><p>“I’d like a wash,” he’d whispered.</p><p>“Sure. Then rest.”</p><p>Suddenly, Joe had felt something. He’d looked down and got a shock when he’d realized that Nicky’s hand was covering his.</p><p>
  <em>The third part of him to touch me is his hand—after his tears and his tongue. </em>
</p><p>“Soon I will thank you for what you did today.”</p><p>With some effort, Joe had lifted his eyes to Nicky’s, and the honesty he had seen there had been almost more than he could bear.</p><p>“Good night, Nicolò.”</p><p>“Good night, Yusuf.”</p><p>And so here Joe was, with his second cup of tea. He wasn’t quite ready to stretch out and let exhaustion overwhelm him. He needed one or two more quiet moments to let the day sink in.</p><p>He left the table and, with mug in hand, went to the easel where he had set the painting of his and Nicky’s wolves before the full moon.  </p><p>Joe stood and drank his tea and felt in the marrow of his very tired bones that he’d done the right thing.</p>
<hr/><p>“Nicky, can I pet you?”</p><p>Nicky’s response was wholly out of proportion to the request. His cheeks flushed, his lips curled in a smile, he ducked his head and raised his eyes and, yes, batted his eyelashes at Joe. He was a schoolgirl, a virgin, a maiden. This all came upon Nicky in the first instant, but by the second instant, his fear and reserve had caught up.</p><p>
  <em>What did Joe mean, exactly, by petting? </em>
</p><p>“Show me?”</p><p>Joe raised his hand and reached out—Nicky had purposefully pulled the end of the sofa so that it was much closer to the stool where Joe sat to work—and brushed the hair unnecessarily from Nicky’s forehead, running his warm, warm palm over Nicky’s crown, and letting it slide down to cup Nicky’s cheek.</p><p>“Like that,” said Joe softly.</p><p>“Yes, you can pet me, Joe.”</p><p>Nicky closed his eyes as at the second pass of Joe’s hand. His wolf sank into a state of bliss, and his human wasn’t far behind.</p><p>Nicky had been watching Joe work while pretending to read a first edition of <em>Don Quixote</em>. It seemed Joe was struggling a bit with whatever it was he was supposed to be painting. Maybe this would help him. He’d said, once upon a time, that Nicky’s scent was helpful.</p><p>With eyes still closed, Nicky couldn’t help but turn into the touch on the third swipe. His tongue moved in his mouth, but he bit it to keep it in its cavity. The tiny jolt of pain must have been telegraphed somehow to Joe because there came at once a tiny, feather-light rub of a thumb down the center of Nicky’s mouth.</p><p>“It’s okay. Lick.”</p><p>Nicky whined and licked Joe’s palm.</p><p>
  <em>First Friend. Not Wild Dog, First Friend.</em>
</p><p>“I like it, Nicky. A lot. And my wolf? Well, he’s bouncing like a rubber ball. You’d think I was a Russell terrier, not, you know, an apex predator.”</p><p>Then Joe’s hand was gone, and Nicky forced his eyes open.  </p><p>“Maybe it will help,” said Joe with a sigh, turning his gaze to his canvas.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“The third tarot card. It’s the four of wands. It means celebration, joy, harmony, relaxation, homecoming. Should be easy, no? Especially after the nine of swords.”</p><p>Nicky nodded, remembering the painting that Joe had done during his spiral. It had been from the perspective of a person lying down, looking up at a cracked ceiling. The nine swords had been circling the person, like a mouth with very sharp teeth. Looking at it, Nicky had felt the claustrophobic tightness of being trapped, of the weight of many menaces, of angry suffering. It had been all blacks and greys and whites except for the one blade which had been dripping blood.</p><p>Nicky’s hand went to his chest, and he heard Joe repeat what he had said the first time he showed Nicky the painting.</p><p>“Don’t think about it for too long, yeah? Don’t, Nicky, please.”</p><p>Joe had covered the canvas then, and as far as Nicky knew, it was still covered.</p><p>“Come back to me, Nicky.”</p><p>Joe’s hand brushed Nicky’s forehead again, and Nicky focused on Joe’s handsome face.</p><p>“You know you can pet me, too,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Anywhere.” He snorted mischievously and coughed. “I mean, under any circumstances, of course.”</p><p>Petting Joe. Now <em>there</em> was a thought worth ruminating on. Nicky smiled and nodded and turned, settling back down in the end of the sofa.</p><p>Time passed, and eventually Nicky thought he’d make tea.</p><p>The kettle had whistled, and Nicky had poured. He was fussing about with the proper cups and saucers and spoons and sugar when he felt a touch already at his elbow.</p><p>Nicky shrieked. Both hands went up defensively, upsetting everything in front of him. Loud, angry clattering of spoons, cups, and saucers. Boiling water scalded his fingers. He hissed, then broke into a stream of apology.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Nicky turned, but Joe was too near, too near, crowding, looming as he mumbled a counterpoint to Nicky’s.</p><p>“My mistake, my mistake, you didn’t see it coming, <em>c’mon, Yusuf, do better</em>.”</p><p>Nicky cried out, a noise of pure panic.</p><p>Joe jumped back and to the side, hands up.</p><p>Nicky had an exit, and he took it, fleeing to the other wall, but wanting nothing more than extend his flight all the way back to the confining safety of his own cabin.</p><p>“Here.” Joe turned and yanked open a drawer and slapped a tube on the counter. “Burn gel.”</p><p>“I’ll heal,” said Nicky, suddenly remembering his hands, watching the blisters form.</p><p>“But why suffer ‘til you do?”</p><p>“Why not suffer?” replied Nicky without thinking or looking away from his hands.</p><p>“Hey!” Joe’s voice was dark and sharp. Nicky looked up at once. Joe’s face was dark and sharp. Nicky cursed himself a thousand times over and looked towards the front door.</p><p>
  <em>Go, go, go!</em>
</p><p>Joe took up the tube and moved it to the table then he moved back to the counter. “Sit. Put it on. Let me make tea for us. It’ll help me save face. I feel like an utter ass for startling you.”</p><p>“I feel like an utter ass for being startled,” mumbled Nicky.</p><p>“Well, lucky for us, it’s ‘utter ass teatime’ at the Old Guard cabin. Sit.”</p><p>An amused snort bubbled up and escape Nicky’s lips.</p><p>Joe looked over his shoulder and shot Nicky a fond look, his features softened and his voice gentle.</p><p>“I’m sorry, and I’m not going to do again, I swear. You can run if you need to, but I’d much rather you sit, please, and let me make this better.”</p><p>Nicky sat.</p>
<hr/><p>“So what was it like growing up a wolf?”</p><p>Joe had left the spoons and saucers on the counter. There were just two quiet cups between them on the table.</p><p>“I suppose every child thinks their life is normal. For me, running with my mother and father beneath the light of the full moon was just something I did. I went to school. I had friends. But I always knew I was different, and I knew I wasn’t to talk about it with others. My family was estranged from their own families, so we were a very tight pack of three. My mother was religious. There was small chapel on the grounds.”</p><p>“On the grounds? Oh, shit, Nicky, you’re rich!”</p><p>Nicky flushed and tilted his head to one side. He didn’t meet Joe’s gaze.</p><p>“I did wonder how you managed,” admitted Joe. “Not that you have a lot of overhead, but still.”</p><p>“Over the years, Quynh has gotten me some translation work.”</p><p>“Yeah, I think she knows everybody in the city who makes their living from the written word.”</p><p>“True, but, um, well, when I was declared dead, what was mine went to The Scythian Animal Shelter.”</p><p>“Andy got your money?! Huh. Wait, you’re dead? Like officially?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Huh.” Joe brought the cup to his lips and smiled. “You look good for a corpse. Making me rethink my hard ‘no’ on necrophilia.”</p><p>Nicky snorted. “Thank you. So, how about you? What was your childhood like?”</p><p>“Noisy. Fighting. I was six of ten. Lots of love, but not much I could call my own. And after I became a wolf, I felt so different from everyone and everything. I tried and tried to make the rest of the month the same, and just one night different, but it didn’t work like that. I was a wolf all the time, even in human form. I knew that no one could understand, and I didn’t want to burden anyone with my secret. I had enough strikes against me. I liked to paint and draw. I was, well, not interested in getting married to a nice girl and starting a family. I wasn’t interested in working in the family business, either. Jerusalem.”</p><p>“Yeah, Jerusalem.”</p>
<hr/><p>Joe went back to work, but not for long. “This isn’t happening.”</p><p>“May I look?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Nicky approached, first looking over Joe’s shoulder, then moving to stand beside Joe. Four small paintings, along with as many sketches, were attached to the easel.</p><p>“Traditionally, it’s a flowered trellis,” explained Joe. “Held up by four poles. Castle in the background.”</p><p>“Does it have to be?”</p><p>“No, of course not. I just need to get the four wands in there, somehow.”</p><p>Nicky tilted his head one way, then the other.</p><p>“Tell me the truth, Nicky, as hard or as ugly as it is. I’d much rather hear the truth than lies that stroke my ego.”</p><p>“It’s not you. It doesn’t have the energy or the passion or depth of feeling that the Hermit or the Nine of Swords have.”</p><p>Joe sighed heavily. “You’re right.” He turned and looked behind Nicky. “Do you want to go out and kick the ball?”</p><p>Nicky did.</p><p>They stayed out until dark and then returned home, famished.</p><p>“Why don’t we cook together?” suggested Joe. “Get used to each other in the kitchen.”</p><p>“You mean<em> me</em> get used to <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“And me learning to move around you in a way that doesn’t trip your alarm bells. You take the lead, and I’ll be helper. I’m much more of a breakfast guy anyway.”</p>
<hr/><p>“So?” prompted Joe about three hours later when he’d dropped his napkin beside his plate and leaned back in his chair.</p><p>“I wish…”</p><p>“What? No, don’t shake your head. Tell me.”</p><p>“I wish we had a bottle of wine.”</p><p>Joe clapped his hands together and gave a whoop and grinned, his nose crinkling in a way that Nicky found patently adorable. He leaned forward.</p><p>“That good, eh?”</p><p>“I haven’t talked about food so much in a long, long time.”</p><p>“I don’t think you’ve talked about anything so much in a long, long time.”</p><p>Nicky smiled and nodded. He’d talked about pesto and how legend said that the Genovese troops who participated in the First Crusade gave themselves away at the wall of Jerusalem by the basil on their collective breath, and how returning home, they’d found their way to Genoa by following the fragrance of wild basil on the Ligurian hills. He talked about the kinds of pasta which were right to put with pesto and the kind that were not, but he also talked about how ‘la necessità aguzza l’ingegno,’ necessity sharpens ingenuity. He’d talked about stuffed cabbage and savory Easter pies and cured cod and different kinds of focaccia.</p><p>Joe had moved around behind Nicky, first giving him a very wide berth and then moving closer, always announcing himself and waiting for Nicky’s hum of acknowledgement before moving. It might have been awkward. It might have been ridiculous. But Nicky was too relieved to have the danger of the morning’s spectacle with the tea removed from the realm of possibility to be embarrassed. It worked. It worked very well. Nicky’s wolfen nose began to be able to read Joe’s scent, the fluctuations as he came closer and moved away, with an astounding precision.</p><p>By the time Nicky set the plates on the table, he could tell how close Joe was with his eyes closed. He’d placed their food at the end, so that they could sit close, to be close to one another.</p><p>Joe didn’t seem to mind.</p><p>And now, after finishing the best meal he’d enjoyed in many years—made best, Nicky knew by Joe, who was full of stories and jokes and opinions and poetry—Nicky’s hand was reaching for the stem of a glass that wasn’t there.</p><p>Wine was something that Nicky had cut out of his life. In the beginning, it had been part of the sentence that he’d inflicted on himself, part of his penance for the mortal sins he’d commitment, the lives he’d taken, but, in hindsight, he really hadn’t missed it until this meal.</p><p>
  <em>A meal shared with a friend ought to have a bottle of wine. </em>
</p><p>Joe shook his head once. “I don’t drink, but…”</p><p>Nicky waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t drink, either.”  </p><p>No wine for murderers.</p>
<hr/><p>“Good night, Nicky.”</p><p>“Good night, Joe.”</p><p>“You know, you’ll never be able to sneak up on me and sack my holy city, you unwashed heathen, not with breath like that.”</p><p>Nicky laughed. He shifted back and forth on his feet.</p><p>He wanted to…</p><p>He wanted to kiss Joe good night. On the cheek. Both cheeks. Or maybe his lips. Just a quick peck. Just a light brush. Or a hug. A hug.</p><p>It seemed like the thing to do.  </p><p>No. This is wine thing, the meal thing, the talking-about-Genoa thing.</p><p>Nicky realized he had stopped thinking of himself as Genovese when he started thinking of himself as a murderer, as a condemned soul. But the meal had brought it back, Joe’s questions about his childhood, too, had helped to awaken a forgotten part of himself. He thought it was dead, but it had just been sleeping.</p><p>Nicky marveled at this power of Joe’s, but then he came back to himself, to where he was standing in the Old Guard cabin, and he realized he’d been standing and thinking about saying good night to Joe for a very long time, long enough for Joe to return to his artist’s stool and be halfway through another sketch of the four wands.</p><p>
  <em>You did it again, idiot. Go to bed.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Joe was still asleep on the sofa when Nicky passed into the kitchen the next morning. There were pages and pages ripped from sketchbooks scattered around Joe and the sofa. Some crumpled. Some not. But all bearing various incarnations and manifestations of four wands. There was nothing on the easel.</p><p>Nicky wondered and worried. He didn’t want Joe to spiral again. He made tea for two.</p><p>Nicky peered over the back of the sofa, checking to see if Joe was still sleeping. Joe’s eyes were closed, his chest was rising and falling evenly, his body was still, but Nicky knew with one sniff that he wasn’t asleep.</p><p>
  <em>He’s playing. </em>
</p><p>Nicky contemplated his next move.</p><p>
  <em>You can pet me, too. Anytime. Let’s hope you were being serious, Yusuf al-Kaysani.</em>
</p><p>Nicky silently drew a bench next to the sofa and placed two cups of tea on it. Then, biting his lip, he reached out and smoothed a hand across Joe’s forehead.</p><p>“Yusuf.”</p><p>Joe didn’t stir. Nicky kept stroking his hair, tugging very gently his curls.</p><p>“Yusuf.”  </p><p>“Yusuf. I know you’re not asleep.”</p><p>“What?” Joe opened his eyes, and his face was mask of petty outrage. “You’re joking!”</p><p>Nicky giggled and shook his head. “My nose is sensitive. You smell differently when you’re truly asleep. I noticed it the first night on the porch in the storm.”</p><p>“From the beginning, mm? Well, you’re wrong. I <em>was</em> sleeping, and I was having a fabulous dream about a cute Italian wolf petting me and bringing me tea. And now you’ve spoiled it.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” said Nicky unapologetically. “Here.”</p><p>Joe sat up and took the cup and saucer.    </p><p>“Why did you pretend to be asleep, Joe, that first night?”</p><p>“I didn’t want to spook you.”</p><p>“From the beginning, mm?”</p><p>Joe looked about the sofa and frowned.</p><p>“It’s still eluding you, isn’t it?” said Nicky. “The four wands.”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>They sat and sipped their tea, looking at each other. It seemed, after a few moments, that Joe wasn’t really looking <em>at</em> Nicky, he was looking <em>behind</em> Nicky. Nicky looked over his shoulder but saw nothing remarkable there.</p><p>“Nicky, have you ever been to Malta?”</p><p>“No, why?”</p><p>“Because I think you would—oh, fuck, I’ve got it!”</p><p>Joe sprang up, dumping the saucer and empty cup in Nicky’s lap, then he grabbed Nicky by the neck and planted a hard peck on Nicky’s temple and mumbled, “Make sure I eat and pee and get a bit of exercise.”</p><p>Joe was bounding for stool and easel before Nicky could even register what had happened.</p><p>In the morning, Nicky left Joe to his muse and went for a long hike. When he returned, he did manage to convince a reluctant Joe to empty his bladder and fill his stomach and join him for about half an hour of distracted football.</p><p>Then Joe made coffee for them both and settled down to work again.</p><p>Nicky made some headway with <em>Don Quixote</em>, but he eventually gave up in favor of watching Joe, who was so wholly absorbed in what he was doing it was like watching a saint at prayer.</p><p>Then Nicky got an idea. There were brushes and paint and palates and used sheets of paper scattered about.</p>
<hr/><p>“Nicky! Nicky! I’m done!”</p><p>Joe looked about.</p><p>The lamps were lit. Who had lit the lamps? Nicky, of course.</p><p>Joe went to the window. Dark, very dark. Everything was quiet. He went to his phone.</p><p>“Oh, fuck!”</p><p>Nicky was asleep! Everyone was asleep!</p><p>A wave of guilt washed over Joe.</p><p>
  <em>Bring him here and ignore him. No art tomorrow, Yusuf. Just Nicky tomorrow. </em>
</p><p>Joe went back to the easel and looked down.</p><p>“What’s this?” He picked up the piece of paper. It wasn’t his. It was a painting of a bright blue arched door and a bright blue shuttered window and dots of pink and green against the white wall.</p><p>Sidi Bou Said.</p><p>Nicky had done it for him while Joe was ignoring him.</p><p>Joe thought his heart would burst. Tears swelled.</p><p>“Nicky?”</p><p>“Joe?”</p><p>Joe looked up.</p><p>Oh, Allah give him strength, Nicky, disheveled, sleepy, in a thin shirt, sweatpants and slippers, looked good enough to eat.  </p><p>“Hey, I’m sorry I woke you.”</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“Yeah, I finished. I did two of them. I wanted to show you. See what you thought about them. Hey, also, I’m sorry I was out of it today.”</p><p>“It’s okay.”</p><p>“Thank you for this.” He held up the picture of the blue doors. “I’m touched.”</p><p>“I’ve never been there, but I’ve seen postcards.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Joe was looking at the picture. “There so many places I want to show you, Nicky. This is one of them. Malta is another.”</p><p>
  <em>It’s only been a couple of days, Yusuf, and you’re leaving in a couple of days.</em>
</p><p>In that moment, Joe’s wolf decided to make its presence known. He growled.</p><p>“Joe?”</p><p>“Will you, uh, sign it for me?”</p><p>Nicky’s eyes were wide. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>“Uh, sure.”</p><p>As Nicky signed, Joe coughed and said, “To prove that you’re real and not just a figment of my imagination.”</p><p>Nicky finished signing and looked up, “You think you dreamt me up?”</p><p>“Sometimes I wonder,” admitted Joe. “Listen, I am sorry for waking you up. I didn’t realize what time it was. Thank you for taking care of me today. If you want to go back to sleep, I can show you the pictures tomorrow.”  </p><p>“Show me now.”</p><p>Joe put Nicky’s picture in a safe place, then went to the easel.</p><p>“This is the one I think they’ll like best. I was thinking about Malta and boats and docks and homecoming and joy.”</p><p>It was a figure with long dark hair and flowing skirt shown from the back running towards the end of a pier. There were four pillars on the pier. They appeared to be holding up a canopy of blue sky. There was a small boat arriving in the distance, someone standing in it.</p><p>“It’s great, Joe. It’s beautiful.”  </p><p>“And this is the other one. They probably won’t go for it, but I liked it.”</p><p>It was a four-poster bed. Dark wood, pale bedding, and a window looking upon the ocean.</p><p>“It looks like a vacation,” said Nicky. He glanced at Joe. “Maybe a honeymoon.”</p><p>Joe nodded.  </p><p>“Is it Malta?”</p><p>“Could be anywhere, I suppose, but, yeah, I was thinking of Malta.”</p><p>“Have you been to Sardinia?” asked Nicky.</p><p>“No. Have you been to Crete?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I’ve got an atlas around here somewhere.”</p><p>They sat on the sofa, the atlas spanning their laps and played ‘Have you been to?’ until Nicky could no longer stifle his yawns.</p>
<hr/><p>Nicky could hardly believe the clock the following morning. Most of the morning was gone. And so was Joe.</p><p>Then Joe was bursting through the door, making an entrance as if on stage.</p><p>“I’m back!” he cried raising his hands triumphantly.</p><p>Nicky stared.</p><p>“Did you get my note?”</p><p>Nicky followed Joe’s gaze to the easel, the easel Nicky had passed without a glance. There was a piece of paper and a message.</p><p>
  <em>Gone to town. Be back soon. </em>
</p><p>“Town?” asked Nicky.</p><p>“Yeah, reception was much better. I got in touch with a lot of people, and they got in touch with me. Everybody’s happy. And the bottom line is I’m going to stay through the first of the month. That’s the absolute latest I can push it, though, but much better than it was.”</p><p>“What was it?” asked Nicky, feeling slow and stupid.</p><p>“Day after tomorrow.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Yeah, forget about that. Twelve more days.”</p><p>“Through the full moon?”</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>“Oh!” Nicky’s wolf began to thump its tail.</p><p>“And because there’s two of us and wolves eat, well, like wolves, I went shopping and got heaps and heaps of food. So, we’re set.”</p><p> The front door was still open. The cold air blew in.</p><p>Joe was standing in full winter wear, bundled in woolly layers from head to toe. Nicky was standing in a thin T-shirt and sweatpants and bare feet.</p><p>“Just gotta unload it all. Slip on your boots and help me—"</p><p>Joe turned toward the front door. His human senses caught nothing, but his wolfen senses stopped him.</p><p>Something, no, about four somethings had passed across Nicky’s face before he’d started hunting his boots and slipping them on his bare feet.</p><p>
  <em>Go back, Yusuf, go back!</em>
</p><p>How could he go back?  </p><p>“Uh, Nicky?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Can we go back?”</p><p>Nicky frowned. "Back?"</p><p>“To a few moments ago?” added Joe. “And redo it?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Nicky kicked off his boots and stood in front of Joe as before.</p><p>“I’m staying through the full moon and I bought a shit ton of food!” announced Joe. On instinct, he flung his arms wide.</p><p>And Nicky?</p><p>Nicky, Nicky, Nicky.</p><p>Nicky took Joe in his arms and hugged him very tight.</p><p>They were one.</p><p>The membrane which held Joe as a separate being from Nicky dissolved the instant that Joe’s body crashed into Nicky’s. Joe buried his face in the side of Nicky’s neck, breathing in lungful after lungful of that scent, that beautiful, beautiful scent. He heard and felt Nicky doing the same, gulping air, exhaling warm ragged puffs against Joe’s neck. As he suspected, Nicky felt solid like a monument, like a fortress.</p><p>Joe knew this was where he should be. The hug was only confirmation of what he knew.  </p><p>
  <em>Full moon. Together. Good.</em>
</p><p>How long Nicky and Joe stayed like that Joe could not fathom. They might have remained locked in each other’s arms for hours but for the mouse.</p><p>Nicky squeaked.</p><p>He and Joe looked down, and a gray blur crossed Nicky’s bare foot.</p><p>The door was still open.</p><p>“Oh, no!” shouted Joe, releasing Nicky reluctantly.</p><p>“Don’t kill it, Joe! I’ll take care of it.”</p><p>“I’m not going to kill it! I’ll get the stuff in. You deal with the mouse.”</p>
<hr/><p>That evening, after dinner, Joe sat on one end of the sofa and Nicky sat on the other. Their legs were in a jumble in the middle.</p><p>Joe was pretending to be absorbed in a book, but he was really thinking about Nicky.</p><p>The hug had been wonderful, portal-to-paradise kind of wonderful. Joe and Nicky had a bond. Their wolves certainly had a bond. Joe could easily see he and Nicky becoming a pack. He could easily see Nicky being his Alpha. He could see Nicky being his best friend and his fiercest ally, his muse and his roommate, his traveling companion and his staunchest advocate.</p><p>Nicky was a priceless treasure, full stop.</p><p>The question in Joe’s mind was: did Nicky, well, want Joe? Did he want anyone?</p><p>Joe wanted Nicolò di Genova in his life however the other wanted to be there. And Joe’s wolf? It was Joe’s wolf that had dragged his human carcass out into the frigid early winter morning to ensure that he and Nicky could spend another full moon together, so that they could continue this experiment of living together, which Joe and his wolf agreed was that best fucking idea Joe had ever had in his life.</p><p>And Nicky was getting used to Joe, he was relaxing, every day there a bit more of him for Joe to enjoy. Like right now, Nicky was trying to coax the mouse, which he had named Aloysius, to eat half a peanut that he had set tantalizingly on the back of the sofa.</p><p>Was there a possibility for Joe and Nicky to be, well, lovers, too?</p><p>Joe didn’t imagine Nicky had had too many relationships in the last seven years, and that meant the last relationship of significance—possibly ever, which made Joe shudder—was with The Bastard, a fucking psychopath who’d convinced Nicky to be his murder weapon of choice.</p><p>Joe had to tread these waters very carefully. He did not want to make Nicky uncomfortable. He did not want to pressure him into anything he didn’t genuinely want.</p><p>
  <em>He killed seven people for the last guy, Yusuf. </em>
</p><p>Joe felt sick at that thought, so he turned his attention to Aloysius eating the peanut.</p>
<hr/><p>What was Joe thinking about?</p><p>Nicky didn’t know.</p><p>Art, poetry, food, travel. He might be thinking about what he was reading, but Nicky doubted it. He looked like he was contemplating something else and just pretending to read.</p><p>When Joe had announced that he was staying longer, Nicky’s wolf couldn’t contain his joy. Nicky had tried to get himself under control, but he suspected Joe’s wolf had caught scent of his reaction.</p><p>The hug had been nice. Nicky was forced to admit to himself that sometimes he positively craved Joe’s scent.</p><p>Joe caught Nicky staring and smiled. Nicky smiled back.</p><p>It was easy to see that Joe belonged in the city. Nicky imagined him moving between coffee shops, galleries, libraries, parks, festivals, subways, and buses. Chatting. Telling jokes and stories. Flirting. Smiling. He did it with Nicky because Nicky was the only person available. He liked Nicky because he liked people, and he was kind to Nicky because he was a kind person.</p><p>Joe didn’t belong in the Old Guard cabin. He would go back to the city where he belonged. And Nicky would stay in the woods and finish his sentence. Neither Nicky nor his wolf wanted to think too much about the inevitable separation from Joe.  </p><p>
  <em>Enjoy this, Nicolò, for as long as it lasts. Sooner than you want it will be just you and Aloysius. </em>
</p><p>Nicky gave the mouse another peanut, then shooed him back into his mousehole.</p>
<hr/><p>“What are you thinking, Joe?” Nicky had already said ‘good night’ to Joe, but he couldn’t help but wonder what the look on Joe’s face meant.</p><p>Joe shrugged and dropped his head, turning his gaze to the book in his lap. He read aloud.</p><p> </p><p>“He comes, a moon whose like the sky ne’er saw, awake or dreaming.</p><p>Crowned with eternal flame no flood can lay.</p><p>Lo, from the flagon of thy love, O Lord, my soul is swimming,</p><p>And ruined all my body’s house of clay!</p><p> </p><p>When first the Giver of the grape my lonely heart befriended,</p><p>Wine fired my bosom and my veins filled up;</p><p>But when his image all min eye possessed, a voice descended:</p><p>‘Well done, O sovereign Wine and peerless Cup!’</p><p> </p><p>Love’s mighty arm from roof to base each dark abode is hewing,</p><p>Where chinks reluctant catch a golden ray.</p><p>My heart, when Love’s sea of a sudden burst into its viewing,</p><p>Leaped headlong in, with ‘Find me now who may!’</p><p> </p><p>As, the sun moving, clouds behind him run,</p><p>All hearts attend thee, O Tabriz’s Sun!”  </p><p>  </p><p>“It’s Rumi, Sufi mystic,” said Joe.</p><p>Nicky hummed. “It’s nice.”</p><p>“Do you pray, Nicky?”</p><p>“Uh, I did. Then I didn’t. Then I did again. Then I didn’t again. And last week, when I saw you lying on the floor, I did again.”</p><p>“You prayed for me?”</p><p>“I find it very easy to pray for you, Joe.”</p><p>“Well, that makes two of us. I find it very easy to pray for me, too.”</p><p>Nicky laughed. Joe did, too.</p>
<hr/><p>“Promise me.”</p><p>“Okay, Joe. If I don’t want to answer your question, I’ll tell you to fuck off. Now ask.”</p><p>“What was he, The Bastard? Your boyfriend?”</p><p>Joe waited, calling himself every name he knew.</p><p>
  <em>Tell me to fuck off, Nicky. Tell me it’s none of my business. </em>
</p><p>Nicky was gone, off into his own thoughts, but he returned sooner than Joe anticipated. His voice was the only sound in the cabin.</p><p>“He was a child. An infant. His thinking was thus infantile. He wasn’t my boyfriend, but I suppose I was his. He was as terrible to me as you imagine. He kept me lost when I was lost in darkness and cold when I shivered in cold. And the memory of his kiss still disgusts me, even after seven years. His heart was black with a corruption of which this world has far too much. I hate him, and I hate myself because of what I did when I was with him. I hate us both, beyond measure and reason. He wasn’t my boyfriend. He was nothing and he was far worse than nothing.”</p><p>Joe was crying, but Nicky wasn’t done.</p><p>“But to answer your question, Joe, he fucked himself on me as a wolf and as a human. I don’t know if that makes me his boyfriend or not.” Nicky sighed. “I don’t want to ever see Stephen Merrick again.”</p><p>Joe looked up, wide-eyed, his face still wet.  </p><p>“His name is Stephen Merrick. English? Drug company?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, his father’s company.”</p><p>Joe jumped to his feet and grabbed his phone and punched a number.</p><p>He turned away from Nicky. His voice was steel.</p><p>“Stephen. Merrick. He’s got to get got, Andy, and get got good.”</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, but we can’t get him—or get Booker back—without Nicky. And I mean Nicky at 100%. Have you seen him fight?”</em>
</p><p>“Uh, the sword, yeah.”</p><p>
  <em>“No, that’s dancing. I’ve seen him take down a fucking bear that attacked Quynh. He’s good, Joe.”</em>
</p><p>Joe frowned and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m good,” he protested feebly.</p><p>
  <em>“He’s better. Anyway, keep working on him. When you get back to the city, we’ll plan.”</em>
</p><p>Joe clicked off the phone.</p><p>“What is it, Joe?”</p><p>“Keane, the guy Booker went off with, works for Stephen Merrick.”</p><p>“Oh god.”</p><p>“Nicky, I’m so sorry about everything, what The Bastard did to you—"</p><p>Nicky’s voice cracked when he spoke.</p><p>“Joe, would you, please, kindly, fuck off?”</p>
<hr/><p>At least Nicky was still there, at the Old Guard cabin. He was there physically, at least. Joe hadn’t been able to convince him to eat or drink anything. Joe wasn’t even certain Nicky had heard him most of the time. He hadn’t said a word, and he’d shuffled off to bed as soon as darkness fell.</p><p>Joe watched him go, feeling more helpless than he ever had in his life.</p><p>The doors, back and front, were locked, but if Nicky wanted to leave, well, what was Joe going to do?</p><p>Joe changed clothes, brushed his teeth, washed his face, and returned to the sofa to stew in his own rage.</p><p>Stephen Merrick was a dead man walking. That was a fact.</p><p>
  <em>You had to pick that scab, didn’t you, Yusuf? You had to know if they were lovers. Well, now you know. Proud of yourself?</em>
</p><p>Joe’s silent self-flagellation was interrupted by a squeak.</p><p>Aloysius was sniffing curiously in Joe’s direction.</p><p>Joe chuckled ruefully. “All right, pal. You caught me at a weak moment. Let’s see about some peanuts.”</p>
<hr/><p>Joe had anticipated the nightmare. He had not foreseen how frightened Nicky’s scream would make him. He flew to the doorway of the bedroom and pushed open the door but stood in the threshold. There were at least seven deadly weapons in Nicky’s bedroom, not including Nicky himself, and while Joe didn’t think that being killed by Nicky would permanently damage him, he wasn’t really keen on testing his theory tonight, especially with Nicky half out of his mind already.</p><p>“Nicky! It’s Joe. You’re safe. You’re at the Old Guard cabin.”</p><p>Joe listened to Nicky’s breathing. He was sitting up in bed.</p><p>“Joe?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s me. You had a nightmare. You’re safe. You’re okay. Nobody is going to hurt you. I swear on every dying breath I’ll ever have that no one is going to hurt you.” Joe was leaning with a hand on each side of the doorway. He hoped there was enough light for Nicky to see him clearly. Even if he couldn’t see Joe, he could probably smell Joe. That gave Joe an idea.</p><p>Joe tore off his shirt and tossed it at Nicky’s head. “Incoming.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“It’s me, yeah? Nobody can copy that, not your very own pinch of Maghrebi sunshine.”</p><p>Joe heard a soft thud of Nicky falling back to bed; then he returned to the sofa, where he slept undisturbed until morning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Once again, the part about Ligurian cuisine is from <i>Tasting Italy: a Culinary Journey</i> by National Geographic and America's Test Kitchen. The Rumi is from a translation by R. A. Nicholson.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Before the moon.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the days leading up to the full moon, Joe and Nicky grow closer. </p>
<p>Half-clothed snogging. Mentions of masturbation. </p>
<p><b>Warnings:</b> Cages/kennels, confinement, and self-confinement.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a cold and frosty morning.</p>
<p>“Did you set me up, Andy?”</p>
<p>“Define ‘set up.’”</p>
<p>Joe had been leaning on the railing of the front porch of the Old Guard cabin, his breath coming in foggy puffs, his phone pressed to his ear. He stood up and looked over his shoulder through the window.</p>
<p>There was no sign or sound of Nicky stirring yet, but Joe lowered his voice, nonetheless.</p>
<p>“Did you send me up here for the purpose of convincing Nicky to return to the city so that you could form a small immortal army and go rescue Booker from Stephen Merrick’s clutches?”</p>
<p> “No, but I can’t say I’m not pleased if that’s the result. Two months ago, Nicky asked Quynh and me to stop bringing him supplies. He had some idea to go out into the wild and just, I don’t know, rot. I didn’t want to disrespect his wishes, but Quynh and I, especially Quynh, were worried about him. You needed a place to paint, I needed to know how and where Nicky was. So, if that’s a set-up, yeah, I set you up. What are you going to do about it? As far as Merrick, I didn’t know who Keane worked for until you did, until Booker told us right before he left. Merrick might be doing to Booker what he did to Nicky. We need to find out and stop him if he is and get Booker back, the miserable mug.”</p>
<p>“I want to stop Merrick, period.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I get that. But, uh, about setting you up. Quynh had some,” Andy snorted, and Joe could almost hear her eyes rolling in their sockets, “matchmaking ideas. I can’t speak for her.”</p>
<p>“Fair enough. I wouldn’t get your hopes up about recruiting Nicky for your army. After our conversation about Merrick, he went nonverbal, and last night he woke up screaming.”</p>
<p>“Damn.”  She sighed. “Do what you can for him. See you on the first.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nicky woke to the certainty that he was in Joe’s arms. It was delicious. He was warm and safe and half-aroused. He hugged Joe’s arms around him tightly and turned his head to rumble a ‘good morning’ when he realized that he was hugging himself and that he was alone in the bed.</p>
<p>Was this a dream? Or was the other a dream? Sometimes Nicky wished his grip on reality weren’t so tenuous.</p>
<p>He looked about.</p>
<p>His sword was still hanging on the wall. The door was closed.</p>
<p>Nicky listened and heard muffled shuffling, Joe’s thick-woolly-sock-footed shuffling, on the floorboards.</p>
<p>Why had Nicky thought Joe was there?</p>
<p>Because Joe had been in the doorway the previous night.</p>
<p>Nicky closed his eyes and saw the silhouette of memory. He cut it out of its context and considered it.</p>
<p>What if, in that moment, he, Nicky, had curled forward and slipped down the end of the bed and crawled and tugged Joe’s sweatpants down?</p>
<p>
  <em>And then what?</em>
</p>
<p>Sucked his prick, of course.</p>
<p>
  <em>Do you remember how to suck a prick, Nicolò?</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky huffed indignantly, but it was a good point. Surely it was like, uh, fellating a bicycle. Did you really ever forget? No, you just got out of practice. He’d had boyfriends before Stephen. Not a lot, but still.</p>
<p>
  <em>Do you think Joe would appreciate your decade-old fellating skill?</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky imagined Joe taking Nicky’s hands in his and gently pushing him away and murmuring a soft, but firm reproof. He wouldn’t laugh, though, no matter how badly Nicky sucked Joe’s prick, he felt certain Joe wouldn’t laugh. He was kind. That was the essence of Joe, kindness.</p>
<p>By the time Nicky’s mind had finished considering the many facets of Joe’s kindness, Nicky’s prick had given up the ghost and gone flaccid.</p>
<p>It was then Nicky looked down.</p>
<p><em>Oh, for fuck’s sake,</em> i<em>t was the shirt!</em></p>
<p>Nicky groaned. Sometimes it seemed the cage was too good for him!   </p>
<hr/>
<p>“Good morning.”</p>
<p>“Good morning,” said Joe, glancing over his shoulder and smiling. He was at the counter, making coffee. “Would you like some?”</p>
<p>“Yes, please.”</p>
<p>Nicky stepped tentatively toward Joe as Joe fiddled with cups and spoons and milk and sugar.</p>
<p>Soon Nicky was close, hovering by Joe’s right shoulder.</p>
<p>Joe stopped what he was doing and turned his head, his eyes raking up and down Nicky’s torso.</p>
<p>“You look good,” he said with a smile.</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>Joe’s brow crinkled and his lips twisted. “Well, no. I mean, from a style point-of-view. It’s is way too tight across your manly shoulders.” Joe plucked gently at a seam. “And far too loose round your underfed middle. But from a wolf point-of-view, seeing you in my clothes?” He hummed and nodded. “The wolf doesn’t give a damn about fit or fashion.” His nostrils flared and stared fixedly at Nicky’s chest. “He says ‘mine, mine, mine!’”</p>
<p>“I understand. It isn’t rational, it’s feral, simple, primal. Thank you for lending the shirt to me. Do you want it back?”</p>
<p>“Eventually, but right now, I like it on you more. No more nightmares?”</p>
<p>Nicky shook his head. He wasn’t thinking about nightmares. He was thinking about what Joe would look like, what Joe would smell like, in his shirt. He’d worn it that first night, the night of the storm.</p>
<p>“All right.” Joe’s face wore an amused expression. He was watching Nicky watch him. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll bring your coffee.”</p>
<p>They sat close together.</p>
<p>Nicky took one sip and peered into the cup. It was just as he would’ve made it, at least a dozen shades lighter than Joe’s and much sweeter, too.</p>
<p>
  <em>He knows how I like my coffee. He makes me coffee the way I like it.</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky looked at Joe.</p>
<p>
  <em>I love him, love him, love him.</em>
</p>
<p>Joe chucked softly and sniffed. “I think the shirt is magic.”</p>
<p>“Can you read my mind?”</p>
<p>Joe laughed. “No, but your expression is, uh, not what I was expecting this morning.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t the shirt, really.”</p>
<p>“No?”</p>
<p>“It’s the scent on the shirt.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” Joe nodded thoughtfully and sipped.</p>
<p>They sat in silence for a long time.</p>
<p>“Do you want breakfast?” asked Joe.</p>
<p>
  <em>I want you. </em>
</p>
<p>Nicky started at his own boldness. His eyes widened. Had he said it aloud? He looked around his chair, panicked.</p>
<p>“Nicky?”</p>
<p>“Did I say something?”</p>
<p>“No. You okay?”</p>
<p>Nicky relaxed and nodded. “No, no breakfast, but thank you.”</p>
<p>“Okay. I’m going to get cleaned up.”</p>
<p>Joe stood.</p>
<p>“I’ll take care of the cups,” said Nicky for wont of nothing better to say.</p>
<p>Joe walked the length of the room. He paused and turned just before the hall, which led to the bedroom, the bathroom, and the back of the cabin.  </p>
<p>“What if I wanted the shirt back?”</p>
<p>Nicky pressed his lips together. He sensed that there was something else being asked. He wasn’t certain what it was, but he looked down and got inspiration from the coffee, the coffee that had not been made by him but had been made kindly and precisely <em>for</em> him.</p>
<p>Nicky got to his feet, and where he found the confidence, or shamelessness, he wouldn’t be able to say, but he closed the distance between him and Joe, pulling the shirt over his head, drawing it down one arm, and whipping it in a circle until it was coiled round his hand.</p>
<p>“I’d give it to you,” he rumbled to a Joe who was stunned and staring with his mouth, in fact, flatteringly agape.</p>
<p>Nicky dropped the shirt in Joe’s hands, spun on his heel, and returned, at a swagger, to the kitchen area.</p>
<p>Joe called after him.</p>
<p>“You put the ‘wolf’ in ‘wolf whistle,’ Nicolò di Genova!”</p>
<p>Nicky giggled as he scooped up the coffee cups.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Joe said he was taking the day off, so they spent it doing laundry and playing football. After dinner, they settled on the sofa, reading, each at an end with their legs tangled in the middle.</p>
<p>Nicky caught Joe’s gaze. “They’re monstrous paws,” he said, wriggling his toes.</p>
<p>“Can I paint them?”</p>
<p>Nicky giggled. “I go from being your model to your canvas! Is that a step up or down? Never mind. Yes, you can paint mine, but only if I can paint yours.”</p>
<p>“Deal.”</p>
<p>Joe painted Nicky’s toenails in a rainbow of jewel tones with a silver crescent moon on each big toe. Nicky tried for a matching set with golden, glittery suns on Joe’s feet.</p>
<p>“Art night at the Old Guard cabin,” said Joe with a wink when he looked up from blowing the paint dry on Nicky’s toes.  </p>
<p>“I’m very lucky to have known you, Joe.”</p>
<p>“Hey, hey, watch the tense there. You’re going to know me for a long, long time.”</p>
<p>“I’m very lucky to know you, then.”</p>
<p>“The fortune is mutual, Nicky. Don’t forget that, please, no matter what happens.”</p>
<p>Eventually, Nicky rose to go to bed.</p>
<p>“You want a ‘good night’ shirt?” asked Joe.</p>
<p>Nicky wavered. He pressed his lips together and nodded.</p>
<p>“Well, since we did laundry, this is the only one with the enough scent on it.”</p>
<p>In one fluid motion, Joe got to his feet, blew Nicky an air kiss, ripped off his shirt, tossed it to Nicky, growled, “Sweet dreams, gorgeous,” then collapsed back on the sofa.</p>
<p>Nicky buried his nose in the fabric. “Smells good.”</p>
<p>“It’s a fine bouquet, or so I’m told.”</p>
<p>“Would you like one?”</p>
<p>“Sure. Why not?” A moment later, Joe caught Nicky’s shirt in the air with one hand.</p>
<p>“Good night, Joe.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Four great days had passed when Joe noticed a change in the atmosphere of the cabin.</p>
<p>Nicky’s usual good humor had been replaced a restlessness that bordered on peevishness.</p>
<p>It was anxiety with a sort of odd brittleness.</p>
<p>Everyone was entitled to moods, but Joe was worried, nonetheless. As he cleaned up from dinner and tried to pinpoint the shift. It was difficult because he’d spent most of the day finishing the illustrations for the children’s book.</p>
<p>What had Nicky been doing? Joe frowned. House stuff. Sweeping. Mopping. Wiping things down. Even tidying some of Joe’s things.</p>
<p>Joe didn’t mind, of course. He’d said so.</p>
<p>Joe had the irrational thought that Nicky had found his bottle of lubricant in the old paint box, but that was stupid. He’d got lube on the brain because waking up every morning in one of Nicky’s shirts left him hard as a rock, and ignoring it, hoping it would go away on its own, wasn’t working anymore.</p>
<p>Something about Merrick? More likely something about the full moon, which was in two days’ time. Nesting? Wolves didn’t nest.</p>
<p>Joe tried a trick while he finished the cleaning up. He tried to slip himself mentally into Nicky’s skin and move and look as he did, then ask himself ‘what am I feeling?’</p>
<p>
  <em>I did something bad. Or I thought something bad. I feel bad. And I feel bad that I feel bad.</em>
</p>
<p>Joe concluded that if he spent any more time with Nicky, he was going to have to understand guilt a lot better than he did.</p>
<p>After dinner, Joe was pouring over a book of Nicky’s, a collection of Gustave Doré’s illustrations of <em>Orlando Furioso</em>. One of them, in particular, was giving him ideas for a canvas, but he stopped because he wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery of the irritated Genovese.</p>
<p>Joe was sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa. Nicky was stretched out on the sofa.</p>
<p>Joe set the book aside and extended his hand to Nicky, who placed his palm on Joe’s.</p>
<p>“Tell me about it?”</p>
<p>“It’s nothing.”</p>
<p>A retort was on the tip of Joe’s tongue but he held it.</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait.</em>
</p>
<p>“It ought to be nothing,” amended Nicky.  </p>
<p>“But it’s bothering you, so it’s a small something. A pebble in the sandal.”</p>
<p>“It’s not bothering <em>me</em>.” Nicky sniffed and looked away, but he didn’t release Joe’s hand. “It’s bothering <em>the wolf</em>.”</p>
<p>Joe tried to keep his cool, but his wolf was not having it. It took all Joe’s reserves not to whine or whimper or flatten his ears and tuck his tail. He did, however, curl his fingers and tug at the hand that was lying in his.</p>
<p>Much to Joe’s astonishment, a moment later, he had a lapful of Nicky.</p>
<p>Nicky landed so that he was straddling Joe, facing him.</p>
<p>It was cozy. It was intimate. It felt insanely right on so many levels. They could fuck like this. Joe would love to fuck like this and a dozen other ways.</p>
<p>“What’s bothering your wolf?” he asked while resting his hands lightly on Nicky’s waist.</p>
<p>“He’s stupid.”</p>
<p>Joe barked. “Uh-huh. Not true in the least. Try again.”</p>
<p>“He’s not rational.”</p>
<p>“He’s an animal.”</p>
<p>“Your art is your art, Joe.”</p>
<p>“My art?! Your wolf doesn’t like my art?! What, the picture of us?”</p>
<p>“Of course not, he loves that. He likes it so much he wants to eat it.”  </p>
<p>“Help me out, Nicky. What about my art has offended your wolf?”</p>
<p>“He’s not offended. He’s…”</p>
<p>Nicky turned red.</p>
<p>“Whisper it in my ear, Nicky.”</p>
<p>Nicky leaned close. “…jealous.”</p>
<p>“OH!” Joe started so violently he nearly pitched Nicky off his lap, but he wrapped his arms round Nicky’s waist and caught him just in time. He laughed. “You cleaned up my sketchbooks, didn’t you?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“And had a peek?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I should’ve asked for permission.”</p>
<p>“Maybe, but you have it now—unless I say otherwise, who knows there might be a surprise for you in there. You looked through the brown leather one?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Joe rubbed his chin.  “What if I told your wolf that I was ready and more than willing to do twice as many drawings of you in the nude as there are of Booker?”</p>
<p>Nicky snorted and giggled and pitched forward, hiding his face in the crook of Joe’s neck.</p>
<p>Joe stroked Nicky’s head. “You’re right. My art is my art. I’m not going to change what I do for anyone. But what I felt then isn’t what I feel now. I still care about Booker, but I only want to be his friend. Nothing else. I don’t want him to be my Alpha.”</p>
<p>Joe felt the shiver go through Nicky’s body.</p>
<p>“Uh, Nicky. There are one or two other drawings.”</p>
<p>“The fellow with the tattoos? And the one with the piercings? Yes, the wolf didn’t care about them.”</p>
<p>“Interesting.” Joe curled his arms round Nicky. “Next time, though, let’s talk about something when it happens.”</p>
<p>Nicky pulled up and looked Joe in the eye. “But not when you’re working,” he protested.</p>
<p>“Well, no, but don’t make me wonder.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Joe. I should’ve said something earlier.”</p>
<p>“Nicky, you’ve been almost completely alone for seven years! You’re allowed yards and yards of slack in the area of personal relationships, but we don’t have all the time in the world and I’d rather be like this,” Joe gestured to their tangled bodies, “than watching you mope from across the room and trying to figure out what’s wrong. Now, for real, what would make your wolf happy? What does he want? Scritches behind the ears?”</p>
<p>Nick went purple.</p>
<p>Joe got excited. Maybe what Nicky’s wolf wanted was to fuck like rabbits. If so, Joe was in!</p>
<p>“Just ask, Nicky. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Allah, please let it be ‘too much’ as in ‘My wolf wants to have too, too much filthy sex with you, Yusuf.’</em>
</p>
<p>“Could I scent you?”</p>
<p>Joe hoped his disappointment didn’t show. He tried to cover with a falsely exuberant, “Sure!”  </p>
<p>If Nicky wanted a quick nuzzle at the side of Joe’s neck, that was fine, more than fine. Among city wolves, scenting was as common and as banal as a handshake.</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course.”</p>
<p>“<em>Oh</em>.”   </p>
<p>It’d probably been a very long time since Nicky had scented anyone new, so this was a big deal for him. Joe would humor him. “Go for it! I’m ready! You take the reins!” The Alpha in Nicky would like the last bit.</p>
<p>Nicky smiled. “Okay,” he said softly, “if you’re absolutely sure.”</p>
<p>Joe gave a mock snarl. “Stop stalling! Lay it on me!”</p>
<p>What happened next, Joe would replay many times. It seemed to him, at the time and in hindsight, that four things happened within a single moment.</p>
<p>Nicky’s shirt was off. Joe’s shirt was off. Nicky’s skin was rubbing against Joe’s. Nicky’s mouth was devouring the left side of Joe’s neck.</p>
<p>Joe had to stifle a howl. Then he surrendered to his wolf’s sudden and abject joy.</p>
<p>This was definitely <em>not</em> how they scented in the city!</p>
<p>Nicky was rubbing, rubbing, rubbing, chest-to-chest; so hard and frantic, it was almost a rut. His hand was holding Joe’s head at a tilt, bearing the plane of skin to conquest by lips, teeth, and tongue.</p>
<p>The rubbing slowed as Nicky extended his other arm, tugging at Joe’s wrist so that their arms were pressed together, fingers twined.  </p>
<p>Nicky paused to growl in Joe’s ear.</p>
<p>Joe groaned loudly. “Yes, yes, yes. Claim me. Not his, yours.”</p>
<p>Nicky released Joe’s hand. His mouth returned to Joe’s neck.</p>
<p>Joe’s hands were everywhere, Nicky’s hair, his neck, his shoulders, his back.</p>
<p>Joe was hard. There was a real risk of coming untouched, and he didn’t care. Nicky could make a mess of him. The passes of Nicky’s tongue were doing something to him, changing him, awakening him, igniting him. Mine, they said. And Joe couldn’t help but reply, Yes, yours.</p>
<p>Finally, the licking slowed to a stop.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” said Nicky. His forehead was resting against the ridge of Joe’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“You’re welcome.” Joe was definitely drunk. “Feel better?”</p>
<p>“Much.”</p>
<p>“Good, good.”</p>
<p>Nicky raised his head and brought to corner of his forehead to Joe’s. Joe smiled. Then Nicky licked Joe’s nose and looked at him so fondly that Joe’s heart threatened to melt.</p>
<p>Nicky curled against Joe’s chest. Joe looked around and grabbed the corner of a fuzzy blanket and dragged it to them, tucking it around Nicky.</p>
<p>“Let’s stay like this a while, hmm?”</p>
<p>Nicky hummed.</p>
<p>Joe held Nicky, and Nicky held on.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Finally, Nicky spoke.</p>
<p>“Andy wants me to come back to the city that we can go to London and kill Stephen and rescue your friend.”   </p>
<p>“Yeah, that’s what she wants, but that’s her, not you.”</p>
<p>Joe nuzzled into Nicky’s hair.</p>
<p>“The city.” Nicky shuddered. “Crowds. Noise. Haste. Anger. Garbage. Stink. Even if I could manage it, what would I be, my old self resurrected or someone new? One makes me ill, the other terrifies me.”</p>
<p>Joe tightened his hold on Nicky. “I know. It’s too much.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to kill anything, but I know as long as Stephen is alive, he will be hurting people and wolves. He may be hurting your friend.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you could give Andy the intelligence we need and she and Quynh and I could take care of it.”</p>
<p>Nicky sighed. “And not protect the three people I care about most?!”</p>
<p>“I know. That goes against your instincts, too.”</p>
<p>“You’re good at creating, Joe.” Nicky’s fingers found Joe’s and laced in them. “I’m good at destroying.”</p>
<p>Joe sighed. “Andy says you’re a good fighter.”</p>
<p>“Henry had an uncle.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t we all?”</p>
<p> Nicky snorted. “Henry’s uncle attacked Quynh.”</p>
<p>“You took him down.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>There was a steel in Nicky’s voice which Joe hadn’t heard before.</p>
<p>They settled into a silence, which was broken by Nicky, again.</p>
<p>“I want to go back to my cabin tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“What?! No!”</p>
<p>“Just two days. I have my full moon rituals, Joe.”</p>
<p>“Do them here!” Joe was conscious of how plaintive he sounded.</p>
<p>“I want to make a liniment.”</p>
<p>“A what?”</p>
<p>“You rub it into the joints, and it helps a great deal with the transitions.  I haven’t been using it for a while because, well…”</p>
<p>“Suffering on purpose?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. But I want to make a double batch so that you have some, too. It has to be made fresh, and it requires simmering for a long time, lots of steps, constant vigilance, and it smells really bad in the process. I prefer to do it at my cabin.”</p>
<p>“Will you come here to change?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Nicky!”</p>
<p>“Will you come here to change <em>back</em>?”</p>
<p>“Yes, but you may need to herd me a bit.”</p>
<p>“I’ll herd you as much and as hard as you want if it gets you here. I’ve got something that I think you’ll like, a surprise.”</p>
<p>Joe looked down. One corner of Nicky’s mouth lifted in a half-smile.</p>
<p>“Not tonight, thought?”</p>
<p>It was begging. Joe didn't care.</p>
<p>“No, not tonight.”</p>
<p>Joe relaxed, but then he felt that unfamiliar thing: guilt.</p>
<p>“Nicky, listen, before I found you in the cave, I went to your cabin. I saw, or rather smelled, where you change, those bricks under the back steps.” Joe winced at the memory. “Then I went inside. Just to make certain you weren’t, well, dead. Total violation of your privacy, I know. I saw where you sleep.” Joe wouldn’t deign to call the space a ‘bedroom.’ “I saw the cot. And I saw the cage.” He didn’t mention the rifle.</p>
<p>Nicky didn’t say anything. Bile rose in Joe’s throat.</p>
<p>“I remember the screech when I spooked you that first night on the porch. The locks are on the inside, Nicky. I know I don’t have a right to ask this, but if tomorrow or the next day you decide you need to be in the cage, could you call me or text me or just come here? I’ll tie you up or hold you down or throw you in the bathroom and keep you there, whatever you need. Just don’t,” Joe’s voice cracked, “don’t go in there. The idea of you being in there makes me half-crazy, Nicky. It makes me sick.”  </p>
<p>For a few minutes there was only their breathing, then Nicky said,</p>
<p>“I came back to life in the kennel after the fight with Andy. She and Quynh kept me there while they, uh, encouraged me to see the errors in my thinking. After a week, they opened the door, but by then, I didn’t want to leave. Andy wanted to dump me out by force, but Quynh said no, I’d had enough force. Then one night Andy was telling me her turn story while Quynh was making a cake in the little kitchen area. Quynh and Andy were arguing about something, and I realized the cake was burning, so I popped out—and fell to the floor because my legs were so weak—and they shut the door behind me. I brought the kennel with me.”</p>
<p>Joe grunted.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to make you a promise that I can’t keep, Joe but knowing how you feel about it, I’ll try not to use it.”</p>
<p>“Good enough. Can we go to bed now?”</p>
<p>The urge to fuck Nicky had been replaced by the urge to stand guard over him—against enemies without and within.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Nicky. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”</p>
<p>“Good morning,” said Nicky, smiling.</p>
<p>“Good morning, yourself,” replied Joe.</p>
<p>“Sleep okay?”</p>
<p>“Never better.” Joe’s voice fell to a mutter. “Just a minute. I’ll be back.” He rolled away and shuffled awkwardly across the hall to the bathroom and shut the bathroom door behind him.</p>
<p>“Joe?” Nicky listened and heard a stifled groan. He lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. “Joe!”</p>
<p>“Uh, just a minute! Fuck!”</p>
<p>Nicky pawed at the crate that served as a bedside table and flew across to the bathroom. “Uh, I borrowed your lubricant out of your toiletry kit without asking!” he called as he turned the doorknob of the door and thrust his hand into the room.</p>
<p>“Shit, Nicky!” Joe was half-laughing, half-groaning. “That’s where it went! I’ve been using the one—”</p>
<p>“In the old paint box?”</p>
<p>“Heh, heh, yeah.” Joe took the bottle from Nicky’s hand. Nicky heard the top pop. “Waking up next to you is stimulating, even more than your shirt. If you want to come in and lend a hand—”</p>
<p>“Soon.”</p>
<p>“How soon? I don’t know how much longer I can hang on.”</p>
<p>“Two days.”</p>
<p>“Oh, well, I don’t think I can, or want, to keep a stiff one going that long. The wolf's got rules about this stuff, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. Breakfast?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Give us a minute?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Around noon the next day, Joe jumped at the knock at the door.</p>
<p>Nicky grinned and held up a box. “It’s done!”</p>
<p>“Good, good, come in, I’ve got lunch, I’ve missed you.”</p>
<p>“I missed you, too.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been working on a canvas.”</p>
<p>“Then you didn’t miss me that much.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense but come see.”</p>
<p>Nicky stepped into the cabin, pulling off his gloves and hat and scarf.</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s wonderful! Jerusalem.”</p>
<p>“Yes, a composite of two I saw in that book of Doré illustrations. See the wolves in the foreground?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I recognize them, too.”</p>
<p>“Let’s eat. Nobody likes changing to wolf on a full stomach.”</p>
<p>When they’d finished eating, Joe opened the box and one of the jars and sniffed. “So, I rub this in?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Two jars. One for before, one for after.”</p>
<p>Joe raised his eyebrows and smirked. “It doesn’t come with application?”</p>
<p>“The before, no, but the after, perhaps.”</p>
<p>“I’m looking forward to this ‘after.’”</p>
<p>Nicky chuckled and nodded.</p>
<p>
  <em>Ask him, ask him, ask him now!</em>
</p>
<p>“Can I scent you, Nicky, before you leave?”</p>
<p>Their eyes met.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>And with that, Joe was on the other side of the table, in Nicky’s lap, grinding his lower half into Nicky’s, rubbing his bare chest against Nicky’s bare chest, and licking the left side of Nicky’s neck.</p>
<p>And then it seemed to Joe that the world exploded, his heart burst with a huge bang, and his whole body was being swallowed up into Nicky’s. Nicky’s arms were a warm tight cage round his head and back and Nicky’s legs coiled round him.</p>
<p>He kept licking. He was fastened to Nicky at the mouth, letting his wolf savor the scent of pure Alpha. Nicky was growling and snorting and snuffling and being every bit as feral as Joe.</p>
<p>Finally, the urgency ebbed, and Joe raised his head.</p>
<p>They were on the ground below the table.</p>
<p>“We broke the chair,” explained Nicky.</p>
<p>Joe laughed. Nicky laughed. They both laughed until they were wiping the tears from each other’s eyes.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Joe's canvas is a combination of two Doré illustrations, Astolfo and his companions reach the Holy Land (15:94) and The aftermath of a battle in France; the Christians are now on the offensive (16:182).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The second full moon.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe and Nicky spend their second full moon together.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a cold and starless night.</p>
<p>As soon as Joe was standing on four paws instead of two feet, he was running for Nicky, and Nicky, he saw, was moving with the same speed and alacrity towards him.</p>
<p>Nicky was still a sight to behold.</p>
<p>Grand. Powerful. At ease with himself and his world.</p>
<p>Joe was awestruck as before, but his awe did not paralyze him. On the contrary, it made his paws move even faster.</p>
<p>He wanted that briny scent on his tongue, and soon, very soon, he had it.</p>
<p>The greeting between the wolves took twice as long as the one on the previous full moon night. They moved up and down each other’s bodies over, swimming against the other’s current, licking, nuzzling, writhing, wriggling, squirming, nudging.</p>
<p>Nicky seemed to want Joe’s scent as much as Joe wanted his, but eventually their thirst for each other was slaked, and with a bark from Nicky, they were off, running!</p>
<hr/>
<p>The races took twice as long as those on the previous full moon night, too.</p>
<p>Joe lost count of how many sprints they had done. Dozens, at least. It was getting to the point that Joe would not be able to keep up with Nicky, no matter how much he desired it. They were both panting fiercely, but Nicky did not seem to want to stop for water. He ignored Joe’s whines.</p>
<p>Nicky barked a ‘go’ and launched into yet another run beneath the silvery moon, slowing at a point, then turning and running back. He did it again. And again.  </p>
<p>Joe was at Nicky’s shoulder through all the runs, regardless of distance and terrain.  </p>
<p>Until he wasn’t.</p>
<p>When Nicky crossed the invisible finish line alone, with Joe lagging, he threw back his head and gave a long, beautiful, triumphant howl. Then he struck a pose, a pose that begged Joe, for Joe was the only animal in the vicinity, to gaze upon him and marvel.</p>
<p>Then it hit Joe.</p>
<p>
  <em>He’s showing off. He wants me to admire his speed. </em>
</p>
<p>Joe barked his applause and followed it up with nuzzles and licks and nibbles behind Nicky’s ears.</p>
<p>Only then did Nicky guide them to the stream beside the cave, where they drank their fill.</p>
<p>They mock fought, but only for a short while, then Nicky led them into the forest where they played hide-and-seek.</p>
<p>Joe was an expert at this game, and Nicky covered Joe’s muzzle with licks every time he found Nicky. And Joe always found him, except the time Nicky had squeezed his large frame into a small hollow log which closely resembled the skunk’s dwelling. In that instance, Joe whimpered plaintively until Nicky emerged with his tail raised, pretending to be a skunk. Joe fell and rolled around in mock agony.</p>
<p>They played skunk-and-Joe for a long time.</p>
<p>They played tag as well, but frequently Nicky paused the game so that he could drag heavy limbs with his feet or fight imaginary predators perched on tree stumps.</p>
<p>Joe intuited that, as with the sprints, these were shows for his benefit, so he made appropriate noises and licks of appreciation.</p>
<p>
  <em>My Alpha’s big and strong. Big and strong and fierce!</em>
</p>
<p>Joe showed off, too. His feats were more acrobatic, springing off Nicky’s back and planting himself facing Nicky, jumping vertically, and vaulting over rocks and logs like hurtles. Nicky was no less effusive in his praise than Joe had been. Joe interpreted his yip and growls.  </p>
<p>
  <em>My Alpha mate is quick! And clever!</em>
</p>
<p>They had fun. All night they roamed, playing and showing off and reveling in the other’s attention. Nicky’s eyes sparkled blue, and Joe knew his own eyes were glowing amber-gold.  </p>
<p>The night ended as the previous night of the full moon had ended:  with Joe and Nicky sitting on the precipice and watching the full moon together. The night was cold. There was hint of snow in the air. They sat side-by-side, licking each other’s nose and nosing each other necks, until Joe finally laid down, facing the moon.</p>
<p>Joe whined.</p>
<p>
  <em>Alpha?</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky snorted his reply.</p>
<p>
  <em>Alpha mate.</em>
</p>
<p>Nicky licked Joe’s nose before settling down very close behind Joe, almost covered Joe’s body with his. He draped his front paws across Joe’s neck in what could only be called a flirtatious, possessive manner, and they stayed like that, watching the moon, their tails thumping the ground, until dawn threatened.</p>
<p>It took Joe much effort to steer Nicky toward the Old Guard cabin. He was forced to push, to shove, to even nip, to keep Nicky on the path, but Joe was determined in his purpose. He wanted to wake up with his Alpha, his lover, his friend. In four days, Joe would be back in the city, and Nicky would be here, and Joe didn’t want to waste a single moment of those four days alone. He belonged with Nicky, and Nicky belonged someplace safe and warm, not a cell, a home.  </p>
<p>Nicky didn’t growl or bare his teeth, but he did seem confused every time Joe blocked his way to the other cabin, to Nicky’s cabin.</p>
<p>Their progress was slow, far too slow. The sky was beginning to lighten.  </p>
<p>Finally, Joe got the idea of a race. He barked.</p>
<p>Nicky’s ears perked up, and he assumed a ready pose.</p>
<p>Joe barked again and ran with Nicky, shoulder-to-shoulder, all the way to the back porch of the Old Guard cabin.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter will be the smut! If that's not your thing, wait for Chapter 12. On my <a href="https://stonepicnicking-okapi.dreamwidth.org/147635.html">Dreamwidth page</a>, I posted moodboards for this fic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. After the moon, before the good bye. [Ch. Rating: Explicit]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe and Nicky have sex. </p><p>Chapter Rating: Explicit. </p><p>Chapter tags/warnings: Handjobs, massage, analingus, masturbation, oral sex, 69, come play, brief knotting. There is anal play and talk of penis-in-anus sex but no actual penetration that way. Switching and bottom!Nicky also mentioned. Also Nicky's former suicide attempts are mentioned.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A sudden and violent tremor struck Nicky’s body. He sniffed hard and whined in confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings, but Joe, roused at once and prepared for just such a reaction, had only to stick out his tongue to lick the left side of Nicky’s neck. He leaned up and nuzzled at that tender spot, too, then murmured against Nicky’s skin,</p><p>“You’re safe. Just Joe. Sleep.”</p><p>To Joe’s mingled joy, relief, and astonishment, Nicky complied, sinking back into slumber, his body relaxing, an almost inaudible but decidedly contented sigh escaping his lips.</p><p>Joe followed him, smiling.</p>
<hr/><p>“Good morning,” said Nicky a couple of hours later. He could feel Joe lying on his side behind him, but he could not see him. They were on, no, they were <em>inside</em> something soft and snug. As Nicky shifted slightly, it was brought home to him more clearly that he and Joe were enveloped in a cocoon of woolly fleece.</p><p>
  <em>It must be a very large sleeping bag. Or a very small tent.</em>
</p><p>“Good morning, Nicolò.”</p><p>Nicky could hear the teasing smile in Joe’s voice. He felt the warmth of Joe’s breath on his bare skin. The intimacy of it made Nicky shiver, and he reached up, trying to find Joe’s beard, in the dimness.  </p><p>“How do you feel?” Nicky asked as he caressed then tugged at the stiff curls.</p><p>“Good. You?”</p><p>A familiar hand was petting Nicky's forehead affectionately. Nicky felt like he was in a wonderful dream, but he didn’t say so.</p><p>“Good. You aren’t sore?”</p><p>“No more than usual, but, uh, I have a liniment for it, right here, in fact.”</p><p>The fingers of Nicky’s other hand, the hand that was not caressing Joe’s face, recognized the smoothness of the jar which was being pressed into them.</p><p>“May I, uh,” Nicky felt suddenly shy as he took the jar from Joe, “put it on you?”</p><p>“Yes, I’d like that.” Joe’s voice was soft and gentle and, most of all, warm, just like this, this—<em>nest, maybe? den?</em>—place where they were.</p><p>The fingers that had been tangled in Joe’s beard found his lips.</p><p>Nicky rubbed Joe’s lower lip with his thumb.</p><p>“Joe?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“May I kiss you first?”</p><p>Nicky felt the muscles of Joe’s mouth move.</p><p>“Please, Nicky. Please kiss me. I’d love that.”</p>
<hr/><p>There was a good reason, Joe discovered, why Nicolò di Genova asked before he kissed someone. It wasn’t pretension. It was a courtesy, really. It allowed that lucky person to clear their calendar for the foreseeable future and put their mental faculties on the shelf to gather dust.</p><p>Joe was under Nicky, clinging to him, listening to the story that Nicky was telling with his mouth against Joe’s, a story of love and passion and bravery and mercy, one of those epics that went on for volumes.</p><p>Nicky’s mouth was soft and wet and warm, loving and lovely. Nicky’s tongue teased and tasted and invited Joe’s to do the same.</p><p>Joe did. Of course!</p><p>One of Nicky’s hands tangled in Joe’s curls, the other cupped Joe’s cheek, guiding the movement of his head, tilting it back, pushing it to one side and then the other, as the kiss evolved.</p><p>But Nicky’s lips and tongue and teeth never stopped loving Joe, never stopped making love to Joe’s mouth, never stopped telling him how much he was wanted and loved, how beautiful he was.</p><p>
  <em>Beautiful.</em>
</p><p>Joe felt beautiful.</p><p>There was a beginning, a middle, and an end to the story in the kiss.</p><p>Finally, Nicky was pressing an epilogue of tiny, wet kisses to Joe’s eyelids and cheeks and nose.</p><p>He licked Joe’s nose, then said quietly,</p><p>“Thank you. May I apply the liniment?”</p><p>If Joe could’ve formed words, he would’ve told Nicky that he could chop Joe’s body in pieces and sell him for bear bait for all he cared, but he couldn’t think, so he just made a snort-like noise, which Nicky, thankfully, interpreted as assent.</p><p>Nicky eased his body off Joe’s, and Joe whimpered at the loss. Nicky shushed him tenderly. Joe turned his head in the direction of the shush and whimpered again. Nicky brought his lips to Joe’s and, once again, slid his body atop Joe’s, the better to plunder Joe’s mouth with his tongue. The kiss was lazier, wetter, and sloppier than the first, but somehow also more possessive and claiming. It was a <em>fucking</em> kiss. Nicky’s body felt heavier, too, gloriously so; he was pinning Joe beneath his weight, and Joe knew there was nowhere else, nowhere else in the world, he wanted to be.  </p><p>Joe groaned when the kiss broke.     </p><p>“May I rub the liniment on you, Joe, please?”</p><p>It was the last little ‘please’ that set fire to Joe’s heart.</p><p>“I love you, Nicky,” he blurted out.</p><p>Too soon. Far too soon.</p><p>“I love you, too.”</p><p>Not too soon at all, as it turned out!</p><p>Nicky replied so casually that Joe wondered if there had been a conversation he’d forgotten where they’d already said the words to each other. Maybe that was the point of the kiss.</p><p>Lips slid along the left side of Joe’s neck. A tongue swiped a wet stripe there.</p><p>Joe’s blood was boiling, hot and needy at that voice, which was nearing a plea.</p><p>“Let me help you, please, Joe.”</p><p>Joe grunted.</p><p>“Oh, huh, huh!”</p><p>Joe exhaled a ragged, surprised breath at the touch.</p><p>Nicky stopped, and when he spoke, his tone was thick with concern. “Too deep?”</p><p>“No! Don’t stop! Please!” Joe’s neck and shoulder were tingling something fierce, and Nicky’s fingers had seemed to be <em>inside</em> him, ferreting out soreness and stiffness and transforming them by some alchemy into relaxed, pliant muscle and soothed nerves. “How are you doing that, getting inside me?”</p><p>“Family secret.”</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p>Nick worked on Joe’s arms, his hands, and his shoulders. Then, Joe suspected Nicky might have been rearranging the organs in his chest cavity. Then Nicky’s hands were moving down Joe’s spine, caressing Joe’s belly with firm, circular strokes.  </p><p>“Oh, fuck, Nicky.”</p><p>All of Joe’s blood was quickly pooling in his groin.</p><p>“Nicky, if you don’t want to…”</p><p>“I want to. Is there anything I shouldn’t—?”</p><p>“I can’t imagine you touching me in any way that I don’t want, Nicky, but I’ll let you know in the unlikely event it happens.”</p><p>Nicky’s palms were sliding down Joe’s body, over wiry pubic hair into the valleys where legs met hips. Nicky’s fingers pressed, then dug, moving round to Joe’s buttocks. The strength of those hands, the hands that Joe had seen hold an axe and a broom and a rifle and a longsword, were turned toward Joe, toward wrenching release from what was bound. The massage was more profound, more thorough than Joe had ever known. To the bone, or so it seemed. Maybe even to Joe's soul.</p><p>Joe couldn’t help but moan, and when he moaned, Nicky repeated the touch, even deeper, which made him gasp and shiver. Words spilled out.  </p><p>“Yours, Nicky. I’m yours.”</p><p>There was a hot little growl against Joe’s neck and the scrape of teeth.</p><p>Joe smiled. Nicky might still have his prickles and his problems, but his wolf knew what’s what.</p><p>“Your wolf knows it. Your wolf likes it,” said Joe, curious as to what the reply would be.</p><p>“My wolf doesn’t question anything. He’s one smug, entitled—</p><p>“Thoroughly soft-hearted,” added Joe, "utterly handsome.”</p><p>“—bastard.”</p><p>“Your parents were married, Nicky, to each other. So were mine, for the record.”</p><p>“Do you ever stop talking?”</p><p>
  <em>Flirting, teasing, taunting! Yes, yes, yes! Rough and soft, perfect.</em>
</p><p>“Make me stop talking Nicky.”</p><p>In an instant there was a slick hand on Joe’s balls, and a slicked fist wrapped round the base of his prick.</p><p>“Let me know when you’re close, yes, Joe, please?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, <em>fuck</em>!”</p><p>The hands that were holding Joe’s prick and balls were moving in opposite directions, and Joe knew at once that he wasn’t going to last half as long as he wanted.</p><p>Nicky’s fist was sliding strong and tight, and three wet fingers were slipping back towards Joe’s rim.</p><p>Joe lifted his hips to push into Nicky’s touch and allow him all the access he wanted to anything he wanted to touch. He loved being touched like that. He was breathing hard and rolling his forehead against Nicky’s shoulder.</p><p>“Good, good,” he mumbled, nuzzling and licking at Nicky’s neck. “So good.”  </p><p>Nicky twisted his grip as he rolled Joe’s balls in his palm.</p><p>“Soon,” gasped Joe, pinching his eyes shut. "Soon, baby."</p><p>He came on the upstroke, right into Nicky’s cupped hand.</p><p>While Joe was catching his breath, he heard a wet noise.</p><p>
  <em>He’s licking my come from his hand. He caught it. <br/>
</em>
</p><p>“Your scent,” explained Nicky softly, “is in your bodily fluids. How do you feel? Are you still sore? I can’t reach your calves and feet.”</p><p>“I feel wonderful. I feel like my Alpha just took the very best care of me.”</p><p>“Oh, Joe!”</p><p>It was such a sweet cry.</p><p>Then Nicky’s arms were around Joe, and Joe was burrowing into the embrace, bowing his head and pressing his face into Nicky’s chest, hearing the rapid heartbeat.</p><p>“Mate?” whispered Nicky, so softly that Joe might not have heard it under normal circumstance, but these were not normal circumstances.</p><p>Joe couldn't hold back any longer.</p><p>“Yours. Your mate. I’ve met wolves from Duoz to Paris, desert wolves, city wolves, all kinds. Not one of them, not Booker, make no mistake, <em>not</em> Booker, draws me to you like your wolf does. They don’t hold a candle to you. They just don’t. I want to spend every full moon of the rest of my existence with your wolf, by your wolf’s side. If your wolf wanted to mount mine, mate mine in that form, I mean, even though I can’t give him pups, we, my wolf and I, would welcome him. Whatever mate means to you, that’s what I want to be.”</p><p>“Oh!” Nicky was stroking Joe’s hair and rubbing his lips back and forth, kissing Joe’s temple. “Mate. Mate, yes, but, uh, the other, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”</p><p>“You think my wolf can’t take your wolf’s cock?”</p><p>Nicky hummed thoughtfully.</p><p>Joe liked the way it vibrated in his chest. He kissed and licked the skin there, dragging his tongue back and forth while Nicky scratched his head.</p><p>“My cock, maybe, Joe, but my knot, too?”</p><p>“Oh.” Joe hadn’t yet seen Nicky’s cock. He was feeling it, of course, as they lay together, flaccid and tucked inside hairy pubes, but it wasn’t easy to know exactly how big it was. Joe didn’t want to assume, and frankly, he really didn’t care. Nicky’s knot, regardless, would be bigger. Maybe much bigger, who knew with natural wolves? Would it bigger than Joe could or would want to take? Difficult to say.</p><p>“I like a challenge!” insisted Joe.</p><p>Nicky snorted and hugged Joe tighter. “Maybe.” He kissed the top of Joe’s head. “Joe?”</p><p>"Hmm?"</p><p>“Where are we?”</p><p>“Ah, that, yes. You and I are in a wolf bed of my own design and creation. It’s like a waterproof slipper but fully enclosable. There are magnet clasps for the wolf and a zipper for the human. It’s set on the back porch of the Old Guard cabin.”</p><p>Joe unzipped one edge and peeled the sides apart.</p><p>“Oh!” exclaimed Nicky as he rolled on his stomach and stuck his nose out.</p><p>“It’s soft and warm and big enough for two! It’s got pockets, too!”</p><p>“And you made it yourself?” Nicky giggled. “You’re so clever.”</p><p>Joe smiled and rubbed his forehead against Nicky’s shoulder.</p><p>“Did you know it’s starting to snow?”</p><p>“Really? Let me see. I don’t want to open it too wide or we’ll lose all this nice body heat.”</p><p>Joe slid himself under Nicky and pushed his face into the gap.</p><p>Nicky nuzzled and licked the nape of Joe’s neck while Joe watched tiny flakes saunter downwards and melt as soon as they touched the weathered boards. </p><p>“I like this,” said Joe, meaning the weight of Nicky’s body atop his and the touch of Nicky’s hands at his sides and brush of Nicky’s lips between his shoulder blades.</p><p>Nicky was moving down Joe’s back, kissing, kissing, kissing, licking, too, pushing Joe’s torso farther out into the cold.</p><p>Joe didn’t care.</p><p>He especially didn’t care when Nicky’s tongue was licking the top of the cleft of his ass. Then Nicky’s teeth were pinching the flesh of Joe’s buttocks.</p><p>“Joe?”</p><p>Joe was half in, half out of The Slipper, his elbows on the porch, as if he were pulling himself out of a swimming pool, and Nicky was giving a preview of coming attractions with his tongue on Joe’s skin, flicking, licking, sucking wet patches.</p><p>“Joe, may I put my tongue inside you?”</p><p>“Yes! Fuck, yes!” Joe spread his knees wide while Nicky’s hands gripped and parted his cheeks.</p><p>Nicky surrendered to the wolf, who sole focus was on his mate, tonguing and tasting him. He felt no shame, no reluctance. This is what Alphas did, they pleased their mates.</p><p>Nicky’s ears were attuned to the sounds Joe was making, reassured by his mate’s desperate keening and polygot swearing.</p><p>Nicky licked Joe’s rim, teased the inner ring, probed deeper, then plunged his tongue in and wriggled it, caressing the inner walls, pushing his face as far as was possible with a muzzle like his, trying to reach further and further into the core of his lover.</p><p>Licking, licking, licking.</p><p>The Nicky pulled out and did it all over again.</p><p>Joe’s hips began to move, and Nicky slowed his licking as he realized Joe was rutting into the fleece floor of The Slipper.</p><p>“I need to fuck. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. It won’t take much. It’s too good. You’re too good. I can feel you in my back teeth. A bit of friction and I’ll be…oh!”</p><p>Nicky recognized the telltale tension in Joe’s body. He quickly flipped Joe onto his back and swallowed Joe’s cock.</p><p>Joe was panting so loud and ragged it sounded like a fisherman’s wheeze.</p><p>Nicky swallowed Joe’s come and rubbed his head against Joe’s belly, begging for pets, which he got.</p><p>Nicky wanted to kiss Joe badly, but he also wanted the taste of Joe’s ass out of his mouth. At last, hygiene prevailed, and Nicky eased away from Joe’s touch and unzipped the slipper more and crawled out onto the porch.</p><p>“Hey, are you leaving?! You’re going to fuck me twice, then walk half a mile, naked, in the snow?!”</p><p>Nicky turned, stricken at Joe’s sudden angry tone. “Bathroom?”</p><p>Joe’s expression crumpled and he hid his face in the fleece. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Of course.” He was waving his hand. “I’m not usually this, this, whatever, but I was afraid you were, that you might be running away.”</p><p>“Running away?”</p><p>Joe lifted his head and smiled genially. “Ignore me.”</p><p>Nicky returned the smile. “Unlikely.” He leaned down and brushed Joe’s hair. “Just a minute.”</p><p>“Of course. Take your time.”</p><p>Nicky did not take his time. He rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth and washed his face and emptied his bladder and washed his hands with ruthless efficiency. He did not let his mind wander, not even once. He sensed Joe would be fretful, or even, maybe, angry, if he took a long time.</p><p>When Nicky emerged, however, Joe was waiting for him, standing, in his underwear, in the hall. There was warmth and a slight smokiness wafting from the main room, signs of a freshly stoked stove.  </p><p>“All yours,” said Nicky, gesturing to the bathroom.</p><p>“Oh, no, I took a leak out back. I just,” Joe was shifting from foot to foot, “wanted to make certain you were okay. I’m really sorry about yelling at you.”</p><p>“I’m okay. You, though,” Nicky moved closer until he was crowding Joe, until Joe’s back was against the wall, “are,” Nicky raked his eyes up and down Joe’s body, then he traced a finger across the waistband of the black boxer-briefs, “sexy.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Joe was wide-eyed and grinning. He looked down. “These shorts do it for you, hmm?”</p><p>“Do people still say that, sexy?”</p><p>“Who the fuck cares? Say it again.”</p><p>Nicky laughed. One hand was on the wall beside Joe’s head, the other was still traveling back and forth across Joe’s waist.</p><p>“You are sexy, Joe. Is this okay?” Nicky ran a hand down Joe’s chest, his touch lingering at the dark hair.</p><p>“It’s much, much more than okay. You’ve had blanket permission for weeks to pet me, Nicky, anywhere, and that still applies, but, you know, I want to make you feel good, too. That’s part of being a good mate, isn’t it? Tell me what you like. Where do you like to be touched? How do you like to fuck?”  </p><p>Nicky dropped his hand from Joe’s body. He raked a hand through his hair and pushed away from Joe, not meeting his gaze.</p><p>“I don’t know. It’s been a long time. I don’t know what I like. Or if I still like what I liked. Do I even remember? I don’t. I haven’t since. Or I didn’t. I mean, not until recently. That was part of it, my sentence, my punishment. And then, of course, before that, Stephen. Before Stephen seems like a really, really, long time ago. Oh, God. I’m sort of pathetic, aren’t I? Hopeless, useless—”</p><p>
  <em>You don’t deserve a lover like Joe. You don’t!</em>
</p><p>“Hey, hey,” Joe took Nicky’s flailing hands in his, stilled them, brought them together, kissed them, then gently pulled them apart, and said, “let’s go back to how sexy I am.”</p><p>Nicky giggled.</p><p>Joe grinned. “See? Much more fun topic.”</p><p>Nicky looked down and nodded. “They do flatter you.”  </p><p>“The style or the color?”</p><p>“Both, I think.”</p><p>“Allah is munificent.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“Because they came in a three-pack!”</p><p>Nicky snorted with laughter. Then he bent low, scooped Joe up by the legs, threw him across his shoulder, and carried him into the bedroom.</p>
<hr/><p>Being man-handled by a gorgeous, brawny Alpha wolf was high up on Joe’s list of fantasies, so when Nicky dropped him on the bed, he was already half-hard.   </p><p>“My Alpha thinks I’m sexy!” he sang as Nicky loomed over him.</p><p>Then Nicky pounced, tickling him, and they rolled around the bed, wrestling like wolves.</p><p>Nick was hung.</p><p>Joe didn’t want to assume, and he didn’t care, but, fuck, Nicky was <em>hung</em>. He wanted to touch, but he wanted Nicky to want him to touch, and, for now, the only surefire safe path he knew through the landmine field that was Nicolò di Genova’s psyche was the wolf.</p><p>Nicky had him pinned to the bed, and Joe was loving it!</p><p>“You’ve got a handsome wolf, Nicolò di Genova.”</p><p>One corner of Nicky’s mouth twitched, but his expression didn’t waiver.  “He’s got a handsome mate, too,” he said in that low, rumbly, Alpha voice which made Joe swoon.</p><p>“Strong,” said Joe.</p><p>“Quick,” countered Nicky.</p><p>“Gentle.”</p><p>“Fun.”</p><p>Joe paused, then said it, earnestly, firmly, “Sexy.” Would Nicky take it or push it away?</p><p>Joe’s heart beat faster when Nicky blushed and looked away and looked back. “Yusuf,” he said shyly while he, yes, batted his eyelashes!</p><p>Joe had to lean up and kiss him for that.</p><p>They would get there, they would. Joe was aching to worship this man from the tip of lickable nose to the tip of his lickable cock, but he would take his time and do it right, make it good for him.</p><p>Joe’s usual bag of tricks was worse than useless, he was flying on nothing but instincts, but Nicky had brought him off twice already, once with those beautiful hands and once with that tongue up his arse—Joe clenched and quivered just thinking about it—and he was damned if he wasn’t going to give as good as he got!</p><p>Joe looked Nicky up and down, pointedly letting Nicky see him looking.</p><p>
  <em>What would be a good way to start? Something easy. Don’t make him choose. That was obviously not the way to go.</em>
</p><p>“How about you watch me while I watch you?”</p><p>“Is that an option?”</p><p>There were many, many options, but pointing this out would not be helpful, Joe sensed.</p><p>“Yes. Since you like these so much,” Allah be praised, added Joe silently as he snapped the elastic of waistband, “why don’t you look some more?”</p><p>Nicky’s eyes flitted about Joe. “Like this?” He released Joe’s wrist and crawled off the bed. He stood by the edge, once more looming over Joe.</p><p>“And I’ll scoot up here,” said Joe pushing up to the pillows at the head of the bed, “and lounge sexily, as is my nature.” He waggled his eyebrows and blew Nicky an air kiss.</p><p>Nicky smiled. “And I’ll get the lube.”</p>
<hr/><p>“You didn’t until recently, what changed?”</p><p>“What changed?” Nicky snorted. “You, of course.” He was stroking his cock, slow and easy, on foot on the floor, one knee on the bed. He was looking at Joe, who was laid out on the top of the covers, propped up on pillows, with his hand down his own shorts. “You’ve turned my world inside out.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m so sorry, Brother Recluse, that I intruded upon your cell of castigation and tempted you to break your vow of celibacy,” Joe ran a hand down the length of his body and gripped his cock through the shorts, “with my sinfully hot body and my wicked, wicked charm.”</p><p>“Liar.” Nicky grinned. His eyes were shining, and Joe loved him so much it hurt.    </p><p>“You’re right. Not sorry. This how you did it when you thought of me?”</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p>Nicky’s fist was looser and moving slower than Joe would’ve anticipated. <em>Sensitive, hm?</em> Joe was mimicking Nicky’s pace on his cock, trying to commit it to memory. That beautiful foreskin was another thing to file away for later. Really, Nicky was a walking wet dream, a playground, a picnic, and a snack—all patched together to make an improbable, immortal, guilt-ridden, mortal-weapon-wielding, shapeshifting whole.</p><p>But back to Nicky.</p><p>“You thought of me in bed?” asked Joe, hesitantly, not really wanting to remember the horrible cot or worse—the cage!</p><p>“No, on the bench.”</p><p>Joe stopped touching himself and sat up abruptly. “Outside your cabin?”</p><p>Nicky nodded. “I fell asleep with your torn shirt in my face.”</p><p>
  <em>Shit, Yusuf! You might’ve been fucking weeks ago if you weren’t such an idiot! No, no, everything happened the way it had to happen, but still—damn!  </em>
</p><p>“So,” Joe smiled, “you just woke up hard, whipped it out, and went to town?”</p><p>Nicky smiled and closed his eyes. “Something like that.” Then he held Joe’s gaze, then one eyelid closed slowly, tentatively.</p><p>
  <em>You winking at me, gorgeous? You flirting with me while you get yourself off? </em>
</p><p>Joe clutched his chest, making a mock show of being hit by an invisible Cupid’s arrow and fell back on the bed with a theatrical groan.</p><p>Nicky snorted and blushed and turned his head. “I like, uh, I like The Slipper.”</p><p>Joe hadn’t thought he could be prouder of himself. He was wrong. His heart thudded loud and hard.</p><p>“Cozy, right?”</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p>“Good for fucking or snuggling or just sleeping when it’s too cold to be doing any of that out in the open.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>
  <em>Outside, outside, outside. The wolf wants to fuck outside. </em>
</p><p>Joe licked his lips. “But in the spring…”</p><p>Nicky threw his head back and sped up his hand. He bucked and pumped, and Joe couldn’t take his eyes off that gorgeous cock.</p><p>“…maybe you and I could find a quiet spot and—”</p><p>“Yes!” Nicky’s eyes flew open. “Can I, may I come on you?” he asked frantically.</p><p>Joe gestured. “Right here, sweetheart.”</p><p>Cock in hand, Nicky aimed and hit the target of Joe’s belly with a series of milky spurts. His body was relaxing, but his eyes were still hungry. He bit his bottom lip and shook his head at a voice that only he could hear.</p><p>“Rub it in,” said Joe firmly.</p><p>“But…”</p><p>“Fuck the mess, you need your scent on me, think I don’t know that? C’mon, I’m your mate!”</p><p>Nicky rubbed the sticky mess into Joe’s skin. Then he collapsed beside Joe, resting his head in the crook of Joe’s arm, facing Joe’s torso, nuzzling and nosing and licking into Joe’s arm pit in a way that was incredibly wolfen.</p><p>Joe curled the arm around him and traced patterns on Nicky’s bare shoulder.</p><p>“Joe, I think I’m going to love you for the rest of my life, however long that is.”</p><p>And just like that, Joe couldn’t breathe.</p><p>“Yeah,” said he hoarsely when he recovered himself. “That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it?” He brought his other arm around and curled his body towards Nicky. “I want to protect you and avenge you, to fuck you senseless and go to war for you. I want to draw a thousand pictures of you and feed you scrambled eggs and make sure your socks don’t have holes in them, and <em>fuck</em>…”</p><p>Joe sighed, then his eyes focused on the side of Nicky’s head.</p><p>“The mole?” asked Nicky.</p><p>“I love the mole, no.” Joe kissed the mole. “How is it I never noticed your ears were pierced before now?”</p><p>“Youthful rebellion. What did you do?”</p><p>“I’m a gay artist, just existing was rebellion enough. So, I don’t guess it would work now, huh? Piercings?”</p><p>“I tried impaling myself on a sharp stake a few years ago, that didn’t work. It just popped out.”</p><p>“Nicky!” Joe winced. “Plus, we’re werewolves, not vampires. Silver bullets, maybe.”</p><p>“They don’t work, either.”</p><p>“Ugh!” Joe couldn’t think too long about Nicky relentless and futile pursuit of his own immolation.</p><p>Nicky sat up and moved off the bed.</p><p>“Hey!” protested Joe and reached for him, involuntary.</p><p>Nicky chuckled and looked pitifully at him. “I’m going to get a cloth to clean you.”  </p><p>Heat rose in Joe’s cheeks.</p><p>
  <em>Get it together, Yusuf. He’s not leaving you, you’re leaving him, in four days, remember?</em>
</p><p>“Okay. Sorry. I’ve got to stop doing that.”</p><p>Nicky dipped down and pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “You really don’t.”</p><p>“It’s unreasonable.”</p><p>“We’re immortal werewolves. For goodness’ sake, let’s be reasonable!”</p><p>Sarcasm was new in Nicolò di Genova, but Joe liked it.</p>
<hr/><p>“Joe?”</p><p>Nicky was sort of gnawing on Joe’s hipbone in a way that was incredibly hot and unbelievably endearing.</p><p>“Mm?”  Joe was in a half-doze. Nicky had cleaned the dried spunk off his stomach, and they’d had one of Nicky’s marathon kissing sessions which had effectively poached Joe’s brain.</p><p>“I want to suck you off.”</p><p>Joe’s cock twitched, violently awake; immediately, the rest of him followed suit.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah.”</p><p>Nicky’s head was right there. Joe could just peel off the briefs and…</p><p>“But…”</p><p>Joe stopped. “But what?”</p><p>“It’s been a while, a long, long while. I don’t want to disappoint you.”</p><p>Those big, round, blue eyes, looking up at him, so earnestly. What could Joe do but brush the hair from Nicky forehead and curl forward and kiss him?</p><p>“Remember all that slack you get? It definitely extends to sucking cock.”</p><p>“Talk to me while I do it? Help me?”</p><p>
  <em>You are pure pornography. </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, sure.”</p>
<hr/><p>Joe was getting off on many levels. First, he was getting his cock sucked by a gorgeous, hung, Alpha wolf who was much better at sucking cock than he thought he was. Second, he got to heap praise on Nicky, Nicky, directly, which was quickly becoming his own number one kink, but which also caused the latter to hum like a broken space heater, a vibration which only served to further drive Joe out of his mind.</p><p>“…you’re doing so good, so good, take a little bit more, just a bit, fuck, yes, I love what you’re doing, I love you, too, that mouth, those gorgeous lips wrapped round my cock, hot, wet, soft, tight, shit…”</p><p>Nicky was holding the base of Joe’s cock and licking up the underside of Joe’s shaft and watching Joe’s face with a gaze so intense, so penetrating, so hard, so owlish that Joe felt like confessing something.</p><p>“I love it. I love that mouth of yours.” Joe chest was heaving. “It’s sexy as hell. It’s good. You’re a good lover, Nicky. You are. Maybe you haven’t had a lot of experience, but, fuck, I have, and I say you’re good. I swear it. It isn’t kindness or flattery. It’s truth.”</p><p>One corner of Nicky’s mouth twitched, and he gave a minute nod. Then he took Joe’s cock in his mouth.</p><p>“Joe?”</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>“I’m starving.”</p><p>Joe grunted. “Yeah, coffee, wash, food, lots of it, then a nap.”</p><p>“Nap in The Slipper?”   </p><p>“Yeah.”</p>
<hr/><p>“It’s afternoon,” observed Nicky. He was in Joe’s lap in one of the kitchen chairs they hadn’t broken.</p><p>Behind Nicky, on the table, were the crumbs and crusts and dregs of a feast.</p><p>“Yeah, we slept late, fucked a lot.” Joe’s voice was thick and heavy. The coffee was wearing off. His eyes were closed, and his arms were wrapped around Nicky’s waist. He nuzzled Nicky’s chest lazily.</p><p>Nicky smoothed Joe’s hair and kissed the top of Joe’s head.  “Rest. I’ll clean up.”</p><p>Joe grunted. “Not without you. Let Aloysius take care of it,” he added, with a grumpy growl, “ that squatter!”</p><p>Nicky looked over his shoulder and bit his lip. Speak of the devil! Their tiny, long-tailed roommate was already scouring the table for pickings.</p><p>Nicky ran his hands down Joe’s neck to his shoulders and back up to his head.</p><p>
  <em>You’re a good lover, Nicky. </em>
</p><p>It was funny how Nicky couldn’t stop thinking it. Something was dulling, softening, loosening inside him.</p><p>He disentangled himself from Joe—much to Joe’s protests—and cleared the table, putting a generous pan of scraps on the floor by Aloysius’ mouse hole.</p><p>“Nicky?”</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>Joe moved behind Nicky as Nicky stood at the sink. “This okay?” He brushed his hand at the back of Nicky’s waist.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Lower, too?”</p><p>Joe cupped Nicky’s buttocks. “Next time I pass a church, I might go in and, uh, light a candle for your mother.”</p><p>“What?! Thank you, but why?”</p><p>Joe squeezed hard. “’Cause this is a Mama’s ass!”</p><p>Nicky threw his head back and laughed. “She would have <em>loved</em> you. She was an incurable romantic, too. She used to read these books, romance novels. Based on the covers, they were often about, well…”</p><p>“Sexy sheiks and handsome sultans?”</p><p>“Yes. She ate them like candy, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“My mother would take one look at you and,” Joe slid his arms around Nicky’s waist and up under his, Joe’s, shirt, tickling Nicky’s ribs, “want to fatten you up!”</p><p>Nicky kept laughing. He turned his head and nuzzled at Joe’s cheek and kissed it. “I love you,” he sighed. “Let me finish this, and we can rest together.”</p><p>“Or…” Joe slipped one hand inside Nicky’s sweatpants and squeezed one cheek. “Okay?” he breathed.   </p><p>Maybe it was the heavy meal or the long day or the scent of sex everywhere or how good Joe was to him, but Nicky found himself unwinding, uncoiling, untangling. He leaned back against his lover, putting space between his lower body and the sink as he replied,</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Joe’s hand was under the shirt, moving up towards Nicky’s heart.</p><p>“Oh!” Nicky gasped and crumpled inward when Joe’s finger brushed his nipple.</p><p>Joe froze. “Too much?”</p><p>“No, no.”</p><p>Nicky relaxed, arching his back again, leaning harder into Joe, who seemed solid, immutable.</p><p>“It’s, it’s…”</p><p>Joe’s fingers were toying with Nicky’s nipple. Other fingers were kneading one cheek of his ass. Joe was rolling his hips, grinding his erection into the other cheek. Joe’s lips were peppering sweet little kisses at Nicky’s temple, his cheek, his neck.</p><p>“It’s what?”</p><p>“…it’s good.”  </p><p>Nicky turned his head, trying to look at Joe, but everything was fuzzy and too close and too hot. Every nerve was on fire. He suddenly wanted to be naked and loose. He pushed his sweatpants down to his thighs. His cock sprang up hard and—he looked down—already leaking. </p><p>“Joe.” It sounded like begging, but Nicky was beyond shame.  “I need you.”</p><p>“Oh, Nicky, I’ve got you. I've got, baby." </p><p>Nicky lifted his arms, peeling his shirt off. He heard a soft thud-thud before the shirt passed his head. He dropped the shirt on the floor and saw Joe had tipped a bottle of olive oil on the counter.</p><p>At the sight of Joe’s fingers dipping into the oil, Nicky went feral.</p><p>He growled, thrusting his hips out, his cock out, curled his arm back, grabbing Joe by the roots of his hair, snarling and demanding, “Your hand.”</p><p>“Right here, love, right here.”</p><p>And then Joe’s slick hand was around Nicky’s cock, slipping up and down easily, and it was everything Nicky wanted, everything he needed.</p><p>Nicky watched. He watched Joe pause to smear some of the oil on his chest, using his other hand to play with Nicky’s slicked nipples while he resumed his stroking. Nicky moaned and spread his legs and rolled his hips and utterly lost himself.</p><p>In Nicky’s ear, Joe’s voice was lower and harder than he’d ever heard before.</p><p>“Love your ass. Love your cock. Your lips, your chest, your shoulders, your hands. I wanna fuck every way, everywhere you wanna fuck.”</p><p>“You like my ass?” growled Nicky, grabbing the bottle of oil and reaching round to pour some down his crack. He clumsily seized Joe’s cock and shoved the very stiff, upright shaft between his cheeks. He bent forward. “Wanna come?”</p><p>Joe threw his arm round Nicky’s chest and jerked him backward. “Not before you, hayati.” Joe’s grip on Nicky’s cock tightened, and Nicky’s felt his world go white at the edges as he came and came and came.</p><p>“Fuck! You’re a damn fountain, Nicky. Shit. You gorgeous beast.” This last was punctuated by a hard peck on the side of Nicky’s head.</p><p>“Come, Joe, come for me, please,” panted Nicky.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, slide it like this?”</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>Nicky was being pitched forward, momentarily flailing, then bracing himself with a hand extended on the other side of the sink.</p><p>“This ass, Nicky, this ass! Shit!"</p><p>Joe was squeezing Nicky’s cheeks together and sliding his cock snugly between them.   </p><p>Nicky laughed and growled and bounced on his toes.</p><p>“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Nicky!”</p><p>Nicky felt the splatters on his bare back.</p><p>“Lick it up and feed it to me, Joe, please!”</p><p>“Shit!”</p><p>Joe’s tongue was on Nicky’s back, cleaning him.</p><p>Pushing and yanking and stepping clumsily, Nicky got rid of his sweatpants.</p><p>Then Joe’s hands were at Nicky’s waist twisting him around so they faced each other.</p><p>Nicky propped himself up on the edge of the sink.</p><p>Joe leaned forward and pushed Nicky back, holding him up by the waist as Nicky spread his legs then wrapped them around Joe.</p><p>And then they were kissing.</p><p>Or rather Nicky was licking, scraping, sucking every trace of Joe’s come from Joe’s mouth, and Joe was giving it to him with equally desperate need.</p><p>Nicky clung. Joe clutched.</p><p>They were breathing ragged and hard, staring at one another.</p><p>Nicky touched his forehead to Joe’s.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>Nicky recognized the dark, molten heat in Joe’s gaze. It was inside him, too.</p><p>“You fuck me so well, Joe. I love the way you touch me and the noises you make, the things you say.” He brushed the side of Joe’s face and lowered his voice. “I love the way your cock feels in my mouth, and the way you taste. God, the way you taste!”  </p><p>Joe growled a little in the back of his throat. Then he kissed Nicky softly and whispered, “Good.”</p><p>“I feel,” Nicky flushed, “safe.”</p><p>“You are safe with me. No one’s going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you, either.”  </p><p>Suddenly, there was a clatter of plates, and Nicky realized his butt was hovering above a basin of soapy water and dirty dishes.</p><p>He and Joe looked down and laughed. Joe shifted Nicky so he was once more balanced on the edge of the sink, but Joe didn’t let go. His thumb was at Nicky’s nipple again. </p><p>They both looked down and watched.</p><p>“I want to put my mouth there, see if you like it,” said Joe.  </p><p>“Try it.” Anything seemed possible, and everything seemed safe, with Joe.</p><p>Nicky moaned as Joe licked and sucked. Then Joe stopped and lifted his gaze and smiled that sweet smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.</p><p>“Do you like it, too?” asked Nicky.</p><p>“Yeah, but not as much as you, I think. I hate to admit it, Nicky, but I’m wrecked. I’m going to need a nap before I’m ready for more.”</p><p>“Yeah. I need a wash. I’m,” Nicky wrinkled his nose, “oily.”</p><p>They slept ‘til morning.</p>
<hr/><p> Joe woke to a stifled but pitiful whine. He listened. It was coming from, he realized, inside The Slipper.</p><p>Joe rolled onto his back. He’d thought he was alone, but he wasn’t.</p><p>“Nicky?”</p><p>Rock-hard tension radiated from Nicky’s body.</p><p>Joe brushed his shoulder, the ghost of a touch. Nicky flinched. Joe pulled his hand back as if burned.</p><p>It was dark. He could smell Nicky’s distress, and it made his wolf whimper anxiously.</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing.” </p><p>“Try again.”</p><p>“Woke up hard. Didn’t want to wake you. Didn’t want to leave you. Didn’t want to deal with it myself. Didn’t know what to do. Dark. Alone. Didn't know what to do." </p><p>“You can always wake me. I’ll take care of you.”</p><p>“No, I couldn’t, I can’t, I won't do that.”</p><p>“Well, you can, you know, do it beside me. You can even use me while I’m sleeping. I don’t mind.”</p><p>“No! I’d never, ever do that to you!”</p><p>“Okay, okay.” Joe made several mental notes—<em>you be the big spoon, next time, Yusuf, hope Stephen Merrick’s enjoying having his teeth in the right place ‘cause they’re overdue for a violent rearranging and removal</em>—then said gently, “I’m up now.” A tentative hand on Nicky’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of you now, Nicolò, if you want me to.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yeah, you know, I was thinking—”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“That your mediocre oral technique could benefit from a practical demonstration by an expert.”</p><p>And just like that, the moment dissolved, and Nicky was laughing loudly and giggling and rolling into Joe and covering Joe’s face with kisses and whispering how much he loved Joe and how beautiful Joe was and how he was aching for Joe’s mouth on him.</p><p>And in a few moments, Nicky was propped up on his elbows, half in, half out of The Slipper, being dusted with falling snowflakes and sucked off to exquisite precision by Joe.</p><p>Joe pulled off and leaned out of The Slipper and spat, then he frowned. “Oh, did you—?”</p><p>“It’s yours I crave, not mine. Thank you. I’m sorry for behaving so badly this morning. It wasn’t a pleasant way for you to greet the day.”</p><p>“Don’t worry. If you’d been in the bathroom when I woke up, I’d probably be the one apologizing.”</p><p>Joe looked at Nicky, who didn’t seem to notice, or care, about the snow. “I’d love to make good on that offer to draw you. After breakfast? But, uh, inside?”</p><p>Nicky smiled and nodded and looked down. “I wish I could draw. You look like an angel.”</p><p>“Oh, hayati.” There was snow in Joe’s eyes. That’s all it was.</p>
<hr/><p>As an object of artistic study, Nicky proved as pliant and compliant in the nude as he was clothed. He didn’t mind being posed, giving Joe tiny, amused smiles and fond looks as Joe arranged and rearranged his body and left him for long stretches of time.</p><p>Joe’s pride as an artist overtook his lust as a lover. He wanted, no, he needed, to get every line right.</p><p>He filled half a sketchbook and even did a quick and sloppy canvas when he realized that Nicky had fallen asleep, prone, on the sheet-draped Slipper which they’d dragged inside and placed by the wood stove.  </p><p>Then Joe heard a sniff and a lovely, sleepy, “Joe?”</p><p>“Right here, love.”</p><p>“Done?”</p><p>“Mm. Don’t know if I’ll ever be done ogling you, but yeah, for now.” </p><p>Joe slipped out of the shirt he hadn’t bothered to button up. He was in the underwear Nicky liked and had no plans to wear much else for the next two days.</p><p>
  <em>Two days, only two days. Nope, not going to think about it.</em>
</p><p>Nicky sat up and reached for Joe’s crotch. He put his hand between Joe’s legs and rubbed from balls to rim and asked,</p><p>“May I lick here?”</p><p>Joe’s knees threatened to buckle. He could only drop his underwear and nod.</p><p>Nicky’s wet mouth. Licking his balls, taking them in and sucking them, nibbling at his inner thigh, lips moving, sliding, caressing back, back, back to his rim.</p><p>Joe was clawing the sofa and babbling, mostly ‘fuck’ and ‘Nicky.’ He didn’t know how he’d managed to be fortune enough to have a walking, talking work of art mind-meltingly interested in eating his ass out, but it was probably balancing out the luck that had made him an immortal werewolf.</p><p>“Oh, hayati.”</p><p>Nicky’s tongue was gone.</p><p>Joe tried to look over his shoulder, but he was awkwardly bent on the sofa.</p><p>“Should I be calling you that, hayati? I call you ‘Yusuf’ sometimes, is that okay?”</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, Nicky wanted to talk about pet names now?!</em>
</p><p>“It means ‘my life,’ hayati, but, yeah, Yusuf’s fine, too. I call you ‘Nicolò’ sometimes, don’t I?”</p><p>Nicky smiled and nodded.</p><p>It was a nice moment. Joe just wished he weren’t quite so hard or twisted like a pretzel or in danger of pitching in a heap while they were having it.</p><p>“Where’s the lube? I’m going to get myself off," he said. </p><p>In a moment, the bottle was being tossed on the sofa.</p><p>“Don’t finish in your hand. I want you in my mouth," said Nicky.</p><p>And with that, Nicky’s tongue was back in Joe’s ass, and Joe was sinking right back into paradise.</p><p>And the paradise didn’t disappear when Joe had shot his load down Nicky’s throat because Nicky’s big, beautiful cock was hard, and he was bouncing that glorious ass in Joe’s lap and begging Joe for more when Joe licked bit at his nipples and leaning back against Joe in a way that Joe loved, crushing Joe into the sofa, while Joe stroked his cock through those amazingly long milky spurts.  </p><p>Nicky was soft and warm and beautiful and spent. Not wanting to move, Joe cleaned him as best he could with the corner of the sheet.</p><p>“A poet once said he wanted to be the bubbles in a Christian boy’s wine. I think I know what he meant.”</p><p>Nicky smiled, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. His arms were bent and behind him, playing with Joe’s hair.</p><p>Letting Nicky see what he was doing, and giving him plenty of time to object, Joe slicked his fingers and palm, then he put both hands under Nicky’s spent cock.</p><p>Nicky hummed and lifted his hips a little.</p><p>Joe kissed the side of his head. “May I?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Nicky bent his knee, hooking his heel on edge of the sofa. </p><p>Joe kissed him again and did with his fingers what Nicky had done to him with his mouth earlier, rolled his balls and fondling them, then caressing his inner thighs. He took his time, rubbing back, back, back. Then very, very slowly, he traced Nicky’s rim with the pad of his thumb.</p><p>Nicky slid a bit more horizontal and opened his legs wider. He turned his head and broke out in a wide, closed-mouth grin. He leaned and reached his own hand down to Joe’s wrist, running his thumb back and forth over Joe’s pulse.</p><p>Their eyes locked.</p><p>Then Nicky looked away and swallowed hard.</p>
<hr/><p>“Joe, if you wanted to…”</p><p>“Look at me.”</p><p>It was difficult to do, but Nicky complied.</p><p>“If you want my cock in you like this,” Joe’s thumb pressed, “we’ll do it. If you want your cock in my ass, we’ll do that, too. If you don’t—” he made a sharp, dismissive noise. “—we don’t. Simple as that. I just want to make you feel good.”</p><p>“You do!” insisted Nicky. <em>How could he not know that?</em></p><p>“Good. So?” He leaned in and whispered, “What do you want?”</p><p>“Just this.” Nicky’s face got very hot. “Or…”</p>
<hr/><p>“Nicky, Nicky, Nicky…”</p><p>Joe’s hand was gripped very tightly around his own cock, and he was rubbing the cockhead in the pucker of Nicky’s hole. </p><p>“Just this, Joe.”</p><p>“I know, I know, baby, but ‘just the tip’ is sort of, you know, uh,” Joe let out of nervous, whinny breath, “a thing.”</p><p>“It feels good. Your thumbs feel good, too.”</p><p>“This is the stuff of pornography, Nicky. I’m leaking like a hose.”</p><p>“Because I’m a virgin?”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>“Stephen didn’t want it. Before that, no one wanted to, either. And I’ve never had any curiosity to do anything by myself.”</p><p>“I cannot believe that no one’s ever wanted to fuck that ass, Nicky.”</p><p>“So, immortal serial-killing werewolf is believable, but ass virgin’s a stretch?”</p><p>Joe laughed so hard he lost his erection.</p>
<hr/><p>When they were clean and dry and Nicky was in Joe’s arms, he kissed Nicky’s brow and said in a soft, rough voice,</p><p>“The selfish truth, Nicky, is I want to spoil you so badly, give you what you want so perfectly, that you never give another lover a second thought. It’s ridiculous, immature, but yeah, there it is.”  </p><p>Nicky had to laugh. “Anyone else? Aloysius? Henry?”</p><p>“Nicky, you go to a club, a bar, a coffeeshop, hell, probably a bus stop and you’re going to get looks and numbers and propositions, especially if you wear anything even remotely form-fitting from the waist down. Or the waist up, really.”  </p><p>Joe was talking nonsense, and Nicky wanted him to stop.</p><p>“Do you think we could suck each other off at the same time?”</p><p>Joe’s face went blank, then he tilted his head in thoughtful consideration and quipped,</p><p>“Let’s give it a shot.”  </p><p>They rolled around on The Slipper, unzipped and unpeeled like a banana, and discovered what was anatomically possible was practically unattainable for reasons of distraction, so Nicky sucked Joe off first, and then Joe returned the favor. They rolled around The Slipper some more, Joe made some naughty drawings of Nicky’s penis, Nicky told some silly jokes in Italian, and they had dinner.</p>
<hr/><p>“I’m going to be the big spoon tonight,” said Joe.</p><p>“Can we try the bed, too?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>It was sort of domestic, Joe thought, getting ready for bed, brushing teeth, putting on pajamas, well, T-shirts and pajama pants. Nicky brought a candle in a dish and put it on the crate. The warm light reflected in the polished steel of the longsword which still hung on the wall.</p><p>Under Joe’s side of the bed, he made certain there was two bottles of water, some washcloths, and the bottle of lubricant, just in case.</p><p>“Good night, Joe. I love you.”</p><p>“I love you, too, Nicky. Sleep well.”</p>
<hr/><p>Nicky opened his eyes to darkness cut with candlelight. He took deep, even breaths. Joe was still asleep, Nicky smelled the warm, sweet fragrance. It was good. It was fine. He was in Joe’s arms, between Joe and the door, protecting him. That was good, too. So was Joe’s warmth, his solid presence at his back.</p><p>Nicky closed his eyes and breathed in and out. In between an inhale and an exhale, Joe woke. After a couple of breaths, he made a soft monosyllabic grunt against Nicky’s neck.</p><p>The fingers of their right hands were intertwined.</p><p>Nicky brought Joe’s hand down to his erection.</p><p>“Oh. I’ve got you.”</p><p> While Joe twisted away at the waist, Nicky pushed his pajama pants down to the tops of his thighs. He wanted to feel Joe’s body, his cock, his hair, his skin against his ass.</p><p>Then Joe returned, and hiked Nicky’s T-shirt up until it was bunched at Nicky’s armpits.</p><p>“There we go.”</p><p>There was the unmistakable <em>snick</em> of the top of the bottle of lubricant. </p><p>Joe slid a hand under Nicky and soon wet, slippery fingers were gently pinching his left nipple, rolling it between thumb and the side of Joe’s index fingers.</p><p>Nicky began to roll his hips and moan Joe’s name.</p><p>“Like that?” teased Joe, smiling. His head was bent, and he was licking the slope of Nicky’s shoulder while his other hand was coating Nicky’s cock with slick.</p><p>“So much.”</p><p>“You gonna come for me?”</p><p>“Only you.”</p><p>“Fuck, Nicky.” Joe released Nicky’s cock and threw back the covers so that the candlelight bathed Nicky’s body. He resumed his stroking, rumbling in Nicky’s ear,</p><p>“Come for me, hayati. I wanna see you do it.”</p>
<hr/><p>Joe was entertaining insanely embarrassing fantasies about deflowering Nicky’s ass while Nicky sucked him off.</p><p>It was right there, his ass, wiggling and glowing in the soft light, as his head bobbed.</p><p>Ideally, you wanted someone who was experienced, who knew what they were doing, hell, someone who knew they liked it, for starters. It wasn’t quick. It was messy. It didn’t matter. It didn’t. But the thought of being the only one who’d had Nicky that way was…obscenely and irrationally compelling.    </p><p>“Hayati.”</p><p>Joe brushed the hair from Nicky’s forehead.</p><p>Nicky looked up, his beautiful mouth still spread around Joe’s cock, his tongue moving inside like a naughty secret.</p><p>Those eyes. That body. The sweetness and kindness and strength of him.  His wolf.</p><p>
  <em>His wolf!</em>
</p><p>One corner of Nicky’s mouth twitched. His gaze or, more likely, Joe’s own inner nag said,</p><p>
  <em>Get it together, Yusuf, stop waxing poetic and enjoy your blowjob. </em>
</p><p>Joe nodded.</p><p>Nicky hollowed his cheeks and sucked.</p><p>Joe fought the urge to close his eyes, even though his lids were heavy with lust. He didn't want to miss a moment of this.</p>
<hr/><p>Nicky’s head was pillowed on Joe’s belly. Joe was petting him, enjoying the play of the light on the walls of the room and the thick smell of sex in the air.</p><p>Then Nicky lifted his head.</p><p>
  <em>Alpha!</em>
</p><p>It went through Joe like an electric current.</p><p>Joe was pinned, fixed to where he lay, by nothing more than a pair of sapphire blue eyes directed at him. The look was unmistakably lupin and impossible to misinterpret.</p><p>
  <em>Mate.</em>
</p><p>Joe’s body quivered with effervescent readiness and barely contained anticipation.</p><p>Nicky lifted himself off Joe’s body with a slow grace and crawled, equally slowly, up Joe’s body. His cock hung hard and heavy between his legs.</p><p>He was almost transforming before Joe’s eyes, the notion reinforced when Nicky began to snort and sniff.</p><p>Joe whimpered his eagerness in response.</p><p>Nicky crawled farther up Joe, straddling Joe’s chest, leaning forward and putting both hands flat on the wall.</p><p>Joe was then able to extend his tongue and lick Nicky’s cockhead as it bobbed directly in front of his lips.  </p><p>Nicky whined.</p><p>Joe gripped Nicky’s ass, but he made no attempt to guide Nicky’s movements. He opened his mouth, he loosened his jaw, he relaxed the back of his throat, so that his Alpha might take his pleasure as he wished.</p><p>And his Alpha took it!</p><p>Joe closed his eyes and thrust by thrust let his wolf revel in the mating. His nostrils flared. The scent of sex was sharper, rawer than ever before. Their shadows on the wall, what Joe could see out of the corner of his eye, were forming and reforming with every roll of Nicky’s hips. Joe thought he could make out the silhouette of Nicky’s posterior.</p><p>The snorting and whining from above grew louder and more irregular.</p><p>Joe sucked some at Nicky’s cock, but mainly he made himself wet and open and pliant, allowing his mouth to be used. More tiny electric shocks running along his nerves, pricking every fiber of his being.</p><p>There came a hollow cry quickly stifled which Joe’s wolf did not like at all. <em>It didn’t become an Alpha, no.</em> but Joe had no way of talking, or even making much noise, filled as his mouth was nor did he have much hope of catching Nicky’s eye to exchange a glance.</p><p>At the second ugly yip, inspiration struck. And so did Joe.</p><p>Pop!</p><p>Joe’s palm spanked Nicky’s round, gorgeous cheek in disapproval.</p><p>Nicky stopped his thrusting and dropped his chin to his chest. Joe raised his gaze as high as he could.</p><p>Pop!</p><p>
  <em>Alpha.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alpha mate.</em>
</p><p>Nicky snorted and snapped his jaws, almost snarling a reply, then redoubled his thrusting.</p><p>Joe was forced to tighten his grip on Nicky, in effect, hanging on for dear life.</p><p>Thrust, thrust, thrust, deeper, Joe relaxed his throat more, he was drooling, gurgling, not-quite-choking, he pinched his eyes shut, they burned, tears pooling, then spilling, then he felt it, a swelling, a swelling in a space that was already overfull with wolf cock, it was growing, swelling, filling, locking them together, and then, and then…</p><p>…and then a magnificent howl that rattled the windowpanes and carried Joe into oblivion.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The poet Joe mentions is Abu Nuwas. </p><p>Only two more chapters left, the good bye and the happy ending.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The good-bye.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joe and Nicky fight about what comes next. Joe returns to the city.</p><p>Warning: There's a lot of dying/killing metaphors during the first part (Joe and Nicky's fight) because I wanted to pay homage the original battlefield meeting in canon.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” asked Nicky.</p><p>The remnants of a very late breakfast lay between them.</p><p>“Uh, well, I have to be on the road by eleven in the morning if I want to beat the traffic.” Joe smiled ruefully and muttered, “I’ve got to worry about ‘traffic’ again. Great.” He took a sip of tea, then set the mug down carefully.</p><p>“Nicky…”</p><p>Nicky felt an invisible stiletto pass like butter into his chest cavity…</p><p>“…come with me.”</p><p>…it nicked the thin wall of some vital vessel, and quietly, politely, Nicky began to bleed. .</p><p>“We can pack up your things as quickly as we can pack up mine. I’ve been staying with Andy and Quynh since Booker left. We can crash with them or if you’d prefer, we can get a hotel—until we find an apartment of our own.”</p><p>“Joe…”</p><p>“We’ll find some place quiet.”</p><p>“A quiet apartment in the city?”</p><p>“They exist. I’m sure of it. We’ve just got to hunt. Ask around. It’s all about timing. I want to wake up next to you, Nicky, tomorrow and the day after and the day after and on and on.”</p><p>“And what do we do after we wake up, Joe?” Nicky saw the thin stream of invisible blood meandering across the floor toward the front door of the cabin.</p><p>Joe shrugged and gestured to the table. “We eat breakfast. We go to work. We hang out with friends. We live our lives. Together. I want you in my life. There are so many things I want you to be a part of. For starters, there is going to be a big party for the tarot card project….”</p><p>
  <em>People. Noise. </em>
</p><p>“…and then there’s the book, there are going to be some great things with the local libraries, kids, that’s always fun, and, of course, festivals, doing the rounds, lots of social media stuff but obviously you don’t have to be a part of that…”</p><p>
  <em>People, people. Noise, noise. </em>
</p><p>“….and then there’s the show. That is not ‘til May but…”</p><p>Nicky had bled out. Now he was drowning in people he’d never met and noise he didn’t want to hear. Joe’s voice was the humming of a motorboat dying as it sped further and further away from where Nicky was sinking.</p><p>Nicky was left for dead in the wake, down, down, down, into the bottom of ocean, which looked, surprisingly, like a very shallow mug of tea.</p><hr/><p>Joe stopped talking. Nicky wasn’t listening.</p><p>His beautiful gaze had gone glassy and vacant, and his body, though seated, was supernaturally still. He hadn’t done it for a while, Joe realized.</p><p>
  <em>Not the best strategy, Yusuf. You overwhelmed him. Just wait until he comes back.</em>
</p><p>The minutes ticked by, and Joe felt each and every one of them like the tip of cigarette ground into the tender skin of his inner forearm.</p><p>The silence and the stillness and the waiting were also a boulder, growing larger by the instant, pressing down on Joe, taking his air, crushing his lungs.</p><p>Finally, Nicky spoke.</p><p>“I won’t come with you, Joe.”</p><p>And that was the bullet in Joe’s temple.</p><hr/><p>“I’ve seen three people in the last seven years, and you expect to drop me into a place of millions and everything will be fine because we love each other.”</p><p>“You’re strong, Nicky, much stronger than you think.”</p><p>“I don’t have a name. Or an existence. I’m dead. And maybe wanted by Interpol.”</p><p>“You don’t know that. Andy and Quynh will help.”</p><p>“Help us become an immortal army of four to kill my ex?”</p><p>“I told you that you don’t have to have any part of that. As far as the rest, well, we can figure anything out together, right, when we get there?”</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t understand at all. Why is he so blind? Surely the Yusuf I know, the one I love, is more sensitive than this?</em>
</p><p>“I’m not asking you to stay here, Joe, I am not trying to persuade or convince you to abandon your life in the city and stay with me because I know you don’t belong here. You belong there.” Nicky waved at the window and a city much farther from him than Joe.</p><p>“We belong together!” exclaimed Joe, but he took one look at Nicky’s face and changed his tone. “Okay, okay, too much, too fast.” He held up both hands in a gesture of mock surrender that made Nicky ill. </p><p>It was an attack of sudden and violent food poisoning.</p><p>“People have long distance relationships all the time, Nicky.”</p><p>
  <em>People. </em>
</p><p>“We can text. Talk on the phone. Video chat, you know. Uh, do you have a tablet or,” Joe frowned, “laptop or something?”</p><p>“I have a typewriter.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“But I ran out of paper about eighteen months ago.”</p><p>“Well, uh, a computer’s not really necessary these days, but in that case, your phone’s going to need a serious upgrade.”</p><p>Nicky hated Joe’s voice. He didn’t recognize it.</p><p>
  <em>It’s the city. This is the way he talks in the city. Like he’s selling something, something expensive that I don’t need and I don’t know how to operate.  </em>
</p><p>“…and maybe, I don’t know, antenna or a dish or something to improve reception. I can do some research and figure out what might work, the generator, too, will need to be replaced...”</p><p>Nicky hoped the numbness he felt was hypothermia. It was not, he knew firsthand, a bad way to go.</p><p>Joe was still talking.</p><p>“…yeah, I know it isn’t ideal. I’ll come up. Full moons, of course, and whenever else I can. Uh, let’s see.” Joe got up quickly and sat back down with his phone, which he switched on while saying softly, “Getting to be like you, off the grid, heh.” The phone lit up, beeping and blinking and buzzing. Joe ignored it all and tapped and tapped, and Nicky eventually saw a month’s calendar pop up, littered with appointments.</p><p>“Um…maybe I could come up for a day or two the weekend of the…” </p><p>Joe rubbed the back of his head and gazed fixedly at the tiny screen. Then he looked up and gave a weak smile. He made a show of setting the phone aside and put his hands together, fingers twined, and said,</p><p>“What were you thinking, hayati?”</p><p>He might’ve been asking Nicky was type of wood he’d like for his coffin.</p><p>Nicky waited for a few moments, then he said quietly, “We have time. We could say good-bye now and wait until circumstances are more propitious.”</p><p>“Propitious?” Joe choked on the word, his eyes round, his brow furrowed deep. “Like in, what, hundreds of years? When the seas rise and cover the city? We find each other, love each other, and you want to just, what, walk away, throw it, this, this love away?!”</p><p>Nicky didn’t want to throw anything away but this very sticky grenade he seemed to be holding, but he couldn't toss it to Joe because he was <em>still talking</em>.</p><p>“So, we just say good-bye, and then what? What are you going to do, Nicky? Sit in your cave alone and rot?! And all because you’re afraid of a bit of technology? You’re not even going to <em>try</em> to make it work?”</p><p>That wasn’t at all why Nicky had planned to sit in a cave alone and rot, and Joe knew it. They had time. Nicky needed time, but Joe didn’t seem to know any other phrase but ‘give me everything I want right now.’ </p><p>Nicky didn’t need to make it work. It <em>did</em> work. It was. Their love <em>was</em>. Or at least his for Joe was.</p><p>Nicky watched Joe’s countenance change. Joe was getting angry, frustrated, and Nicky suspected that very soon he was about to get offensive. The person Nicky had gotten to know, the artist and the lover, was fading. </p><p>
  <em>Who are you?</em>
</p><p>Nicky hadn’t said it aloud; nevertheless, Joe answered, softening a bit.</p><p>“I’m the one who loves you, Nicky, the one who you love. We’ve just spent the last month falling love, the last two full moons having the time of our lycan lives, and the last four days worshiping each other’s bodies, and normal people, when they do all that, want build a life together as soon as possible.”</p><p>Match to fuse. Boom.</p><p>“<em>I’M NOT NORMAL! AND NEITHER ARE YOU!</em>”</p><p>It was a fight now.</p><p>Joe snapped his head to the side and snarled, and Nicky was not mistaken in the cruelty in the curl of his upper lip.  </p><p>“No, I am <em>not</em> a genocidal psychopath. Maybe if I were, I could convince you to join the twenty-first century instead of killing innocent people for sport!”  </p><p>The invisible scimitar was in Nicky’s belly, carving it open, his entrails were spilling out, but he wasn’t going down without landing his own blade in the tenderest spot he could reach.</p><p>“Even he wasn’t stupid enough to think it’d only take a month—or a fuck—to remake me in his own image!”</p><p>Joe turned bright pink and rubbed his face with his hand. “Nicky, I’m sorry—”</p><p>Nicky stood.</p><p>Joe paused and looked up.</p><p>Nicky watched the war of emotions play across Joe’s face. For no reason at all, he thought about the siege of Jerusalem in 1099, and that the first Crusaders, and many more, too, perhaps, though of themselves as pilgrims, reclaiming what was not theirs, taming what was not actually savage, a few of them with pesto on their breath.</p><p>Joe addressed the empty table, his voice dripping with pain and venom,</p><p>“Running away?” </p><p>Nicky was suddenly very, very tired, but his wolf’s hackles were finally up. Very up.  </p><p>“No,” he replied coldly. “I’m packing. And leaving.”</p><hr/><p>There was a quiet cough at the bedroom door.</p><p>Nicky’s eyes moved. His head did not turn.  </p><p>“I’m wrapping the canvases. I’ll leave the one of our wolves here if you want it.”</p><p>“Thank you. I want it.”</p><p><em>I want you, too, but I’m terrified</em>.</p><p>“Nicky—”</p><p>“Oh!” Nicky frowned into the box of books.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>
  <em>Don’t. </em>
</p><p>“Uh, do you want me to strip the bed?”</p><p>Joe shot Nicky an incredulous look but said, “No, I’ll take care of it.”</p><p>“May I borrow the Jeep?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“I’m going out to do some sketching while the light is still good. Leave the keys on the table.”</p><p> <em>Better this way—even if it hurts.</em></p><hr/><p>
  <em>Better this way—then I don’t make a complete begging, weeping, slobbering fool of myself! </em>
</p><p>Joe didn’t know if he would actually sketch anything, but he marched out of the Old Guard cabin with a determined step, knowing he was running away from the pain of watching and listening to Nicky leave and knowing he’d utterly ruined the most important conversation of his life.</p><p>Joe’s wolf whimpered and whined plaintively, but the tone of Nicky’s words—<em>I’m packing. And leaving.</em>—had left him too cowed to do much more. He didn’t urge Joe’s feet back to the cabin. His tail was tucked under. His head was low.</p><hr/><p>Joe returned to the cabin some hours later, shivering and wretched after trudging through curtains of cold, frozen rain.</p><p>As he’d expected, all signs of Nicky were gone, including the canvas, which was, in fact, some consolation to Joe. If Nicky still valued Joe's art, not all was lost, not every thread of connection had been severed. </p><p>The Jeep was gone, too. No keys on the table.</p><p>Darkness fell. Joe went through the motions of packing, but he was really listening for the Jeep.</p><p>
  <em>Stole my heart and my car?</em>
</p><p>Joe laughed mirthlessly, then he sighed a resigned sigh and grabbed his coat.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“Nicky? Are you okay? Of course, you’re not okay. I am very sorry for some of the things I said and the assumptions I made and my general attitude of assholery. I think you and I are destiny. I think we were meant to find each other.  So I am just going to sit on this bench and love you.” </em>
</p><p>Joe was almost certain that Nicky couldn’t hear him. He could see Nicky plainly through the window, sitting, with that disconcerting stillness of his, at the table. The keys to the Jeep were on the table. Nicky still wore his heavy jacket. The canvas was propped up against one leg of the table, but Joe had seen, from a cursory look into the vehicle, that the rest of the boxes were still in the Jeep.</p><p>So, Nicky might have been sitting there, in that fugue state, for hours.</p><p>
  <em>And you wanted to drag him to a loud, hectic, bustling city of millions of people! What a thoughtful plan, Yusuf! Really showed you cared!</em>
</p><p>Shame and self-pity pricked Joe’s eyes.</p><p>
  <em>Sit. Stay.</em>
</p><p>Joe sat. And stayed.</p><hr/><p>Nicky’s eyelids fell like heavy curtains, his head bobbed, his body jerked.</p><p>He opened his eyes.</p><p>It was dark and rainy, but there was something, no, <em>someone</em> on the bench on the front porch.</p><p>Nicky recognized the shape of the head and shoulders. Was this a dream? Or a memory? Or a hallucination?</p><p>
  <em>Could it be Joe? And if it was, what was he doing sitting on the porch in the dark?</em>
</p><p>Nicky turned his head and saw the keys on the table.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, fuck, the Jeep!</em>
</p><hr/><p>“Hey.” Joe got to his feet.</p><p>“I’m very sorry about not returning the Jeep.”</p><p>“It’s okay.”</p><p>“I haven’t finished unloading it.”</p><p>“I can help.”</p><p>Nicky looked at the rain. The wolf rose inside him. He said flatly, “No, thank you.”</p><p>“May I sit here?” Joe indicated the bench.</p><p>Nicky frowned, then he shrugged and nodded and made his way down the steps and into the icy downpour.</p><p>Joe held open the front door. When the fourth box had been deposited inside the cabin, Nicky returned to the porch and threw Joe the keys.</p><p>“Nicky, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, too.”</p><p>The truth came easily to Nicky’s lips. He was sorry for so many, many things.</p><p>Joe looked cold and miserable. And handsome.</p><p>“Were you waiting long?”</p><p>“A bit. I didn’t mind.”</p><p>“I’m sorry that you had to wait.”</p><p>“Nicky, could we sit?” Joe waved at the bench. “I won’t talk. I won’t touch you. But I think my wolf would like to be with yours for a little while longer. We could just,” he turned his head, “watch the rain, and then I’ll go.”</p><p>Nicky narrowed his eyes and actually crossed his arms over his chest—it was an unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable gesture for him, but the wolf still had the reins where Joe was concerned—and lifted one eyebrow and sniffed pointedly.</p><p>“At the moment, my wolf is not overly interested in what you think, but he also doesn’t see why your wolf should suffer.”</p><hr/><p>They sat on the bench.</p><p>Nicky’s wolf was keeping a cautious eye on Joe.</p><p>
  <em>Could he be still? Could he be quiet?   </em>
</p><p>As the minutes passed, the answer to both questions proved to be ‘yes.’</p><hr/><p>As the minutes passed, certain truths were born upon Joe.</p><p>Yes, he was cold and somewhat miserable, but his wolf was surprisingly happy, the bastard.</p><p>His wolf was sitting by his Alpha, watching the rain. If Joe’d had a tail, it would’ve been contentedly thumping the floorboards.</p><p>It was as if Joe was holding a leash, waiting for his canine companion to finish sniffing something of interest. The difference was, or perhaps it was no difference at all, that Joe’s wolf would never tire of sitting by his Alpha.</p><p>Joe waited, and more truths surfaced.</p><p>
  <em>He’s scared, Yusuf. This is his home, these are his ways, and you were asking him to give it all up for a future he can’t envision and for many things he simply doesn’t want. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. Or want you. Or want a life with you. You were never destined to meet Nicolò di Genova at a bar or a club or coffeeshop or a bus stop, so stop treating him like you just did. Also, he isn’t a DIY project. Or a stray you take to the vet with the hope he isn’t microchipped. </em>
</p><p>Joe realized his head was in his hands. He turned to look at Nicky, who was looking at him very fondly and smiling a very knowing smile.</p><p>
  <em>You did it to him, Yusuf. You went somewhere in your thoughts and left him for a while. And it tickles him. </em>
</p><p>Nicky looked ahead and said, “This isn’t my favorite kind of rain.”</p><p>“No? What kind of rain is your favorite?”</p><p>“I like big drops,” Nicky made expressive gestures with his hands, “thunder, lightning, wind.”</p><p>“You like storms.”</p><p>Nicky nodded.</p><p>“What about your wolf?”</p><p>“He loves them. It’s the only thing we agree upon. When it’s a full moon and there’s a storm, he only stops running to howl.”</p><p>“Wet dog!”</p><p>Nicky nodded. “Smells awful.”</p><p>Joe smiled. This love between them was as small and soft and fragile as a baby chick. He wanted to cup it in two hands and keep it safe.</p><p>Safe.</p><p>
  <em>Make it safe for him to be who he is, Yusuf. </em>
</p><p>They settled back into silence for a while. Then Yusuf asked,</p><p>“Would you like some paper? I could leave you what I have.”</p><p>Nicky blinked. Then he tilted his head and looked thoughtful because he was, Joe knew, always, always full of thoughts.</p><p>Eventually, he said,</p><p>“Yes, I’d like that. Thank you.”</p><p>“And the rest of the food.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Joe waited. It was funny the more silences there were, the more he could tell the difference between them.</p><p>“Joe, there is something else I want.”</p><p>
  <em>Anything, anything, anything, love. </em>
</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>Nicky rose and went inside the cabin and returned with a book and opened it and removed a folded sheet of paper.</p><p>“Would you fix it?”</p><p>“Oh, the drawing of our wolves with my number. Yeah, I’ll fix it.”</p><p>Nicky returned inside and came back with a crude pencil and a knife for sharpening.</p><p>“This is what you wanted this morning.”</p><p>Nicky nodded. “But I was being hard and stubborn.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, there was a lot of that going around then, wasn’t there?”</p><p>“Thank you,” Nicky said when Joe had finished. Nicky put the drawing back in the book and disappeared inside the cabin.</p><p>When he returned and sat, it was on the edge of the bench.</p><p>“Joe, maybe it’s inappropriate.” Joe only had to shoot Nicky a look to make him giggle. “Okay. I have no wish to offend you or insult you, but I will speak to Andy, and if, well, if you need money, you can go to her. It can be a one-time thing or you can set something up on a regular basis, if it would help you to have freedom to devote to your art.”</p><p>“Nicky, that’s incredibly generous of you, but I don’t think I can do that.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“I mean, when I say that my sugar daddy is a rich, dead, immortal, serial-killing werewolf who lives in a cabin in the woods, well, they’ll lock me up.”</p><p>Nicky’s smile split his handsome face. He threw his head back and laughed.</p><p>While Joe was memorizing the lines on Nicky’s face, they changed.</p><p>“What?” asked Joe.</p><p>Nicky shrugged dismissively. “Sugar daddy,” he pronounced with a very cute curl of his lip.  </p><p>
  <em>Oh, we’re flirting again, are we?</em>
</p><p>“You like that idea?” Joe teased. “Having a sexy pet artist on your payroll?”</p><p>“As a fantasy, it has some appeal.” <em>Oh, ho!</em> “I suppose it’s like your deflowering me on our wedding night?”</p><p>Joe stared, stunned, then recovered himself. “And here I thought I was keeping that to myself.”</p><p>“I’m a hermit, not an idiot, Joe.”</p><p>Joe laughed until he cried. Then a folded cloth was being pressed into his hand.</p><p>Joe wiped his eyes and sniffed and then studied the square of cambric.</p><p>“A monogrammed handkerchief,” he observed.</p><p>
  <em>You are a walking anachronism as well as sex-on-a-stick and the textbook definition of Good Samaritan, Nicolò di Genova. </em>
</p><p>“My mother’s embroidery. Please take it. You have given me two works of art, I haven’t anything to give you.”</p><p>“You are the gift, Nicky, but okay, it’s too beautiful, too much of you and like you for me to refuse.”</p><p>Joe fingered the handkerchief and sighed.</p><p>“I need get one thing off my chest, Nicky. I understand that you did horrible, unforgivable things, and I understand why you’ve decided to remove yourself from the world but—<em>but!</em>—couldn’t you atone for what you’ve done by living in the world and doing good? You’ve got so much love in you, and while I am selfishly looking forward to being the object of most of it, there’s a bit more to share, and it would be a shame if no one else got to benefit from it. The world would be the lesser for it.”</p><p>“There is much in what you say. I’ll think about it.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Joe?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“This morning, when you were talking—”</p><p>“Nicky, I’m sor—”</p><p>Fingers on Joe’s lips stopped him. He couldn’t help but kiss them.</p><p>“Listen, Joe.”</p><p>Joe smiled. And listened.</p><p>“The sounds you made. I mean, your voice, your tone when you were talking about phones and computers and things. It was,” Nicky scowled fiercely, “different.”</p><p>“Was it? Oh. I didn’t even know I was doing it. Well, I guess when I’m working, you know, jobs to pay the bills, you end up talking a certain way to clients, customers, people you don’t know. I suppose, you know, I think it’ll reassure people about me, mostly that I’m not a terrorist.”</p><p>Nicky’s hand was in his, squeezing.</p><p>“But I’m not going to talk like that to you again. Or at least I don't intend to. You can call me out if I do.” Joe sighed again. “Listen, I’m going to go back to the Old Guard cabin. I’ll drop off the paper and the food and anything else in the morning.”</p><p>“I have some bags of trash.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ve got some of those, too. I’ll pick them up tomorrow and haul them out.” Joe twirled the keys in the ring on his finger. “Okay. Good night, Nicky.”</p><p>“Good night, Joe.”</p><hr/><p>Nicky watched Joe descend the steps and head toward the Jeep.</p><p>“Joe?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Nicky was descending the steps, and Joe was heading towards him.</p><p>And their lips met.</p><p>Nicky kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. And with his lips and tongue and teeth, he told Joe everything that was in his heart.</p><p>
  <em>I love you. I love you. I love you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My love for you is immutable and immortal. Your love for me nourishes me and gives me courage.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m close, Joe. It won’t be long. Not nearly as long as you think. I need to think and to decide who I am going to be and how I am going to be, where I will bend and where I will not. With me, you add one more person to your world, but with you, I must add a whole new world, too, and for that I need time and, to be honest, a bit of distance.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let me miss you, let me long for you, let me pine. Just a bit.</em>
</p><p>“Nicky.”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>“I love you, too.”</p><p>“Joe, I need—no—I would like to spend tonight—”</p><p>Joe kissed Nicky and whispered, “Say it the other way.”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Don’t ask politely. Tell me you need me.”</p><p>“I need you, Joe.” Joe groaned. “I need to be with you tonight.”</p><p>“Fuck, Nicky.”</p><p>“I need to scent you until dawn—"</p><p>“Shit, yes.”</p><p>“—until your scent is the only thing I’m breathing, your skin is the only thing I’m feeling, and the taste of you, inside and out, is the only thing on my tongue. I’m going to lick you raw, tongue you raw, make you raw with the scraping of my need. I need it, my wolf needs to—”</p><p>“Teach me some respect,” growled Joe.</p><p>Despite the icy rain, a white-hot shiver when through Nicky. He felt it go into Joe and return to him like an electric current.</p><p>“And love you,” added Nicky. “I need to love you, mark you, remind you of whose you are.”</p><p>“C’mon.”</p><hr/><p>The morning was far too chaotic to be melancholy.</p><p>They woke very late, and Joe immediately launched into a frenzy.</p><p>Nicky was obliged to take the Jeep back to his cabin alone. He was happy about this because it put distance between him and Joe’s, frankly, disturbing tornado-esque method of packing. Joe had also taken to foisting his belongings on Nicky as gifts, the paper and the food, but also books, journals, pens and colored pencils, socks, and the remaining chopped wood. At the gifting of a third shirt, Nicky escaped to prevent Joe from depriving himself of his whole wardrobe.</p><p>When Nicky returned, Joe was in a panic.</p><p>“Nicky, Nicky—Aloysius! I can’t find him!”</p><p>“I took him yesterday.”</p><p>“Oh, good.”</p><p>“Joe.”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s time, isn’t it? I’m not going to lie, Nicky. I’m going to be counting the minutes until our life together begins, but I am going to trust that whatever brought us together knows how and when that’s supposed to happen.”</p><p>“You’ll be busy. You’ll be distracted. Making friends, making art. Not a bad thing.” Nicky cupped Joe’s face, his gaze earnest and searching. “Don’t doubt, Joe, ever, that you are all and more to me. My sun.”</p><p>“My moon, my beloved,” Joe breathed, “what a couple of incurable romantics we are.”</p><p>They kissed.</p><hr/><p>Four hours later, Joe was far from the Old Guard cabin and pulling the last, and largest, of the bags of garbage from the back of the Jeep when he spied something beneath the bag, something that he hadn’t known was there, something he himself hadn’t packed.</p><p>Joe frowned.</p><p>Then he touched the large, folded metal frame and realized.</p><p>
  <em>The cage.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He gave me his cage.</em>
</p><p>Joe crumpled against the back of Jeep, howling.</p><p>He had a nice long cry, then mopped his face with an embroidered handkerchief, and finished the last leg of his journey into the city.   </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The happy beginning.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nicky and Joe are reunited. </p><p>The end! Thanks for all the lovely comments. They kept me going.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Five weeks later…</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Andy appeared in the doorway.</p><p>“Joe, take your 15-minute.”</p><p>“Just took it, boss.”</p><p>“Take another one. You’ve got mail.”</p><p>Joe’s eyes widened at the envelope in her hand. He snatched it, first sniffing it from corner to corner, grinning madly, then studying the careful, elegant handwriting, running trembling fingers over the letters. Finally, he put the envelope to his forehead and closed his eyes and breathed and prayed softly, pleadingly, aloud.  </p><p>“If Allah is merciful at all, let not all be lost. Let his love not have soured. Let there be mercy for my weakness.”   </p><p>
  <em>My sun,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My plan is to walk to town and send this missive by post, and if your handsome brown eyes are reading this, crinkling at the corners, then that plan has succeeded. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Recent circumstance compels me to write to you. I have sat with the matter for a week and still can find no peace or understanding. Aloysius is sympathetic but inadequate counsel, and Henry is still asleep. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Even if my telephone had not met a sudden and unexpected demise over three weeks ago, I would still have attempted to reach you in this way. I find it easier to organize my thoughts on paper. Thank you for the gift of the paper, by the way.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>First, I dream of you every night. This isn’t poetry or hyperbole. Each night since your departure five weeks ago, I see you in my sleep. Some nights, it’s a just sliver of you, sharp and clear but fleeting. Some nights, I see a watercolor impression, lasting longer but with much less definition. Some nights, it is a single still image, some nights it is a moving picture, a film. Sometimes it is in black-and-white, sometimes in color. Many nights you are sleeping. Other times you are with Andy, Quynh, people I don’t recognize.  You are drinking and listening to music, telling stories and laughing. You are watching football. You are walking. You are on a bus. There are rare intimate scenes, too, especially in the early morning. I hear my name on your lips. One time you did serious violence to your lip by biting, and I foolishly tried to lick the blood away. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I am wandering. Forgive me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am writing to recount the experience of the most recent full moon, the Worm Moon as it is called. My wolf was searching for you to no avail, and then, suddenly, you appeared. As you might expect, no words can convey the joy of reunion. We played as before. Then, as dawn threatened, your wolf disappeared. When I regained human form, you were not under the stairs with me. I dressed and went to the Old Guard cabin. It was shut and undisturbed, just as on the day you left. I was not distressed because, as I mentioned, I dream of you every night, and so I concluded that my wolf must’ve dreamt you, and his psyche being in some ways superior and in almost every way different from my own, the dream was that much more vivid. And that is how things would have rested had I not come across your tracks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your wolfen tracks, my beloved, and none other. Fresh in the mud. Parallel to mine.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am at an utter loss. Is this magic or madness? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Advise me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I calm my mind by placing the matter in your beautiful, capable hands and include instruction for writing to me in the postscript. The postmistress here has kindly agreed to play the role of poste restante. Meanwhile, I remain yours, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Nicolò </em>
</p><p>“Joe.” Andy’s voice was stern.</p><p>“Oh, oh, shit! What did I do?” Joe sobbed into the handkerchief. The letter was still clutched in his hand. “Why the fuck did I do that?”</p><p>“I don’t know, but I do know that you’re done for the day. Go home and write him back. Then pull yourself together because you owe me a double shift tomorrow.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Two weeks later…</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>“Shhh! Andy’s going to kill me if she knows I gave it to you before the end of your shift! And I’m already in the doghouse over those ferret races!”</p><p>“It wasn’t the races, Quynh. It was the melee in the winner’s circle, but thanks.”</p><p>Joe took the postcard and frowned. The image was of a bear sitting on a toilet in a forest. He turned the card over and read the cramped hand.</p><p>
  <em> Y. Do not distress yourself, beloved. No forgiveness is necessary because there has been no transgression. You are caught between the demands of your life and the demands of your wolf. The latter is always welcome for however brief a sojourn. I will rest quietly tonight knowing my sanity is no less threadbare than I believe and that our cadre of curious conditions does not extend to astral projection. There is, however, as I read it, the possibility of a telepathic connection, judging by your descriptions of your own dream state. Interesting. I lack the space or time to write more as I want to send this as soon as possible and thus relieve your anxiety. Your drawing is exquisite and so are you. I guard them both next to my ever-beating heart. Yours. N.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Five weeks later…</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>“Nice,” said Andy, throwing back the champagne like it was whiskey and nodding at the painting of Jerusalem and the wolves on the gallery wall. “You even got Quynh’s cowlick.”</p><p>“Thanks,” said Joe. “And thanks for letting me off next week.”</p><p>Joe caught the eye of several people who were leaving and smiled and waved. It was late. The crowd was thinning, going home or moving on.   </p><p>“You’ve earned it. Say ‘hi’ to Nicky for me. It’s been, what, three months?”</p><p>“Almost. I hope I am doing the right thing. I sent him a card, letting him know I wanted to come up for the full moon, giving him my new address, but I haven’t heard anything back.” Joe sniffed and rocked back on his heels, his hands in his pockets. “I don’t even know if he got the card. I don’t know if he knows I’m coming up. Hell, I don’t know if he wants me to come up.”</p><p>“You do know, Joe. He wants you.”</p><p>“Three months and I’ve had one letter, one postcard, and a menagerie of dreams, that’s it.”</p><p>“You’ve been busy, Joe.”</p><p>“True, the apartment’s great, right? Such good light in the morning. Everything’s still in boxes but I’ll deal with that when I get back.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Where’s your better half? She’s been a ghost this week.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, right? Either she’s having an affair or she’s wooing a new author for work—it’s about the same—or she’s hatched some insane fundraising scheme for the shelter.”</p><p>“The last scheme went viral.”</p><p>“Don’t remind me," she groaned. A waiter passed by and Andy exchanged her empty flute for two full ones, both of which she drank. “Damn Mistress of Ferrets!”</p><p>“Hi! Speak of the devil—! Oh, Joe!” Quynh stopped at a distance from the painting and pouted theatrically. “You couldn’t have smoothed my tail just a bit!”</p><p>Joe laughed. “What can I say? I’m a realist.”</p><p>As Quynh approached, she opened her arms wide and so did he. They embraced, he, lifting her petite form off the ground.</p><p>“Hello, lover,” said Quynh, looking at Andy over Joe’s shoulder.</p><p>Joe sniffed. And froze.</p><p>He stepped back abruptly.</p><p>
  <em>Basil. Lemon. Brine. </em>
</p><p>His mouth dropped, and he breathed, “Here?”</p><p>Quynh grinned.</p><p>“Oh, God, Quynh, what are you up to now?” Andy’s voice died as Joe scanned the room, sniffing, sniffing, sniffing, then following the scent, his mind disbelieving but his nose and his wolf certain.</p><p>
  <em>Alpha. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alpha. </em>
</p><p>And there he was.</p><p>Joe’s jaw dropped.</p><p>Hair slicked back, wet and dark. Short, neatly trimmed beard and mustache. A tiny gold hoop earring in each ear.</p><p>He looked like the cover of a magazine.</p><p>But the same intense sapphire stare. The same curious Cupid’s bow. The same sweet mole. The same smile.</p><p>The same gorgeous frame draped in a long, heavy dark coat, which covered some kind of dark form-fitting sweater and, Santa Madre di Dio, a pair of tight black jeans.</p><p>Nicky raised one eyebrow and looked teasingly at Joe.</p><p>Joe grinned and shook his head in awe and flew to him.</p><p>The embrace was tight. The kiss was tighter.</p><p>Three months of waiting and worrying and wondering melted in a pool around their feet.</p><p>“How? How?” gasped Joe when the kiss finally broke.</p><p>“I’ve been working out things, working on things, but this,” Nicky stepped back and looked down at his clothes and rubbed his face with a slightly amused and bewildered expression, “is Quynh.”</p><p>“You look amazing! Like a wet dream! And I can’t believe you here! Here in the city! And here!” Joe gestured to the gallery walls. "At the show!"</p><p>“I wanted very much to support my beloved on his special night. Oh, oh.” Nicky quickly snaked an arm round Joe’s waist as Joe’s knees buckled.</p><p>Joe leaned hard against him, burying his face in the wool of the coat. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just overwhelmed.”</p><p>“So am I,” confessed Nicky softly. “By everything but you. You look very fine, Joe. I have missed you. My wolf has been satisfied with the full moons, but dreams are nothing compared to this.”</p><p>“Oh, Nicky, there's so much I want to…”</p><p>“We have time.”</p><p>“Does that mean—? Are you—?”</p><p>“I’ll spend two days in the city,” Nicky said shakily. “Then I would very much like leave this place and escort you north to enjoy the Flower Moon, and some quiet, together.”   </p><p>“Yes, yes, please.”</p><p>Nicky kissed him, and Joe felt weak again.</p><p>“I need you, Joe.”</p><p>“Fuck, not here or we’ll get thrown out before I show you around, off, whatever.” Joe took a deep breath of Nicky’s scent and got to his feet.</p><p>Nicky laced his hand in Joe’s. “Now, may I have a tour, please, Mister Artist?”</p><p>“Absolutely! Step right this way!"</p>
<hr/><p>“Oh, shit!” said Joe as they turned a corner. “Shit, shit, shit!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Um.”</p><p>Nicky looked into the room. “Oh.” On the far wall was a painting of himself, nude, prone, lying on The Slipper.</p><p>“I turned in the one of Jerusalem and the portrait of Sister Hubert as arranged. Then they had an extra space at the last minute. We all submitted candidates, and that’s what they picked.” Joe cringed. “I'm sorry. I should've asked your permission and warned you. Is it okay? I mean, it's not your face." </p><p>“Yeah, it's okay, but,” Nicky rubbed his face with his hand and turned away, “goodness, Joe.”  </p><p>Luckily, Nicky had something to distract him from his budding discomfiture. His wolf heard the quiet whoosh, Nicky reached up and caught the throwing knife by the hilt just before it planted itself in the side of Joe’s skull.</p><p>“WHAT THE FUCK?!” growled Joe when he looked over, but Nicky was already closing the distance between himself and the thrower.</p><p>“Your reflexes are…okay.”</p><p>“It’s nice to see you again, too, Andromache.” Nicky returned the knife to her.</p><p>She looked over his shoulder. “Nice butt.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“Sometime in the next two days, when you come up for air,” Andy nodded at Joe, “let’s have a chat.”</p><p>"About old times."</p><p>"And new ones."</p><p>“Very well. Would you do us the honor of spending the Flower Moon with us?”</p><p>“Uh, well, oh, I don’t know…”</p><p>“What?” cried Quynh, running towards them with a drink in her hand. “What? Did someone say bacchanal in the woods? Did someone say orgy in the wilderness?”</p><p>“No one said either of those things, Quynh,” began Andy.</p><p>Quynh ignored her. “Nicky, Nicky, Nicky!”</p><p>Nick hugged her and said softly, “Thank you so much.”</p><p>“Oh, so sexy-cute it hurts!” she said patting his face.</p><p>“So I hear I have you to thank for this surprise,” interjected Joe, putting an arm around Nicky and squeezing.</p><p>“And I’ve got one more,” said Quynh, raising her eyebrows.</p><p>“Not ferrets, I hope,” grumbled Andy.</p><p>“Nope. Joe, I’ve got a commission for you.”</p><p>“Oh, work!” Joe released Nicky and rubbed his hands together. “For what do you need my artistic services, madame?”</p><p>She shot a look at Nicky, and he gave a minute nod.</p><p>“For the cover of a novel,” Quynh said.</p><p>“Nice. I’m yours. Tell me more.  </p><p>“It’s in the romance genre. The author’s name is Lupo di Mare.”</p><p>“Well, you’re in luck as I happen to have a soft spot for Italians,” said Joe with a wink at Nicky. Then he frowned. “Lupo di Mare?”</p><p>“Yeah, the author’s coming back after a long hiatus. I thought they’d given up on romance and, well, a lot of other things, too, but turns out they just needed the right inspiration.”</p><p>Joe looked at Nicky. “Lupo di Mare?”</p><p>Nicky nodded. “Sea wolf.”</p><p>Joe was trying very hard not to smile. “Well, I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to read it first.”</p><p>“Maybe just the dedication page,” suggested Nicky, also trying not to smile.</p><p>“And what’s this love story called?” asked Joe, his eyes shimmering gold.</p><p>Nicky grinned wolfishly and replied,</p><p>“<em>It Was a Dark and Stormy Night</em>.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nicky's look is definitely Luca's Italian November 2020 GQ look. Very Alpha wolfish, I think, and possibly the original inspiration for the whole story.</p><p>I don't know if I'll come back to this 'verse, but there is plenty of ground for all kinds of more stories. The campaign against Merrick. More full moon wolf fun (which many of you like). Nile and Lykon's stories. Malta as well as the sugar daddy and deflowering fantasies.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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